Old age: is there any point?

Lovely story I tripped over on the internet recently ...

"I recently picked a new primary care physician. After two visits and exhaustive lab tests, he said I was doing "fairly well" for my age.

A little concerned about that comment, I couldn't resist asking him, "do you think I'll live to be 90?"

He asked, "well, do you smoke tobacco or drink beer or wine?"

"Oh no", I replied. "I've never done either."

Then he asked, "Do you eat rib-eye steaks and barbecued ribs?"

I said, "No, I heard that all red meat is very unhealthy."

"Do you spend a lot of time in the sun? Like playing golf? Go sailing? Go ballooning? Motorcycling? Rock climbing?"

"No I don't", I said.

He said, "Do you gamble, drive fast cars, or sexually fool around?"

"No", I said. "I have never done any of those things."

He looked at me sternly.

"Then why do you give a sh*t if you live to be 90?"

Absolutely right...

What's in a (doctor's) name?

The Psychiatrist & The Proctologist

Best friends graduated from medical school at the same time and decided that, in spite of two different specialties, they would open a practice together to share office space and personnel.

Dr. Smith was the psychiatrist and Dr. Jones was the proctologist.

They put up a sign reading: "Dr. Smith and Dr. Jones: Hysterias and Posteriors." The town council was livid and insisted they change it.

So, the docs changed it to read: "Schizoids and Hemorrhoids." This was also not acceptable, so they again changed the sign.

"Catatonics and High Colonics" - no go.

Next, they tried "Manic Depressives and Anal Retentives" - thumbs down again.

Then came "Minds and Behinds" - still no good.

Another attempt resulted in "Lost Souls and Butt Holes" - unacceptable again!

So they tried "Analysis and Anal Cysts" - not a chance.

"Nuts and Butts" - no way.

"Freaks and Cheeks" - still no good.

"Loons and Moons" - forget it.

Almost at their wit's end, the docs finally came up with...

"Dr. Smith and Dr. Jones - Specializing in Odds and Ends"

Everyone loved it...


If you want some help with your business or social writing, come and see me on HowToWriteBetter.net.

How to prevent cancer: yeah, right...

Here are some incredibly useful tips based on what is promoted by the, er, shall we say, more romantic popular press who just love to put some oomph into their stories…

ACTIONS: WHAT TO DO

Buy and use some ear plugs. They obviate the need for you to listen in bed to a partner whose snoring is louder than a racing car performing at full revs two feet away, thereby significantly reducing your cancer-causing stress hormone levels. Also work well for screaming kids, arguing families, neighbours doing noisy jiggy-jiggy next door, construction workers in the street using pneumatic drills (jackhammers) etc.

Move to a remote island without electricity. This avoids the danger of living near nuclear power stations or electricity pylons which as any popular journalist knows have been a hopeful source of cancer causing something-or-other, for some time.

Keep and use carrier pigeons. This will ensure that you don’t succumb to the threats of brain tumours arising from mobile phone (cellphone) usage. After many, many years of the media desperately hoping to accuse it of triggering cancer, a bit of research has finally hinted that this could be true.

If you’re a woman and live in the UK, get a facelift and have some Botox treatments. It seems, according to pop journalists, that the younger you are (or appear to be) the more likely you are to get a partial or total mastectomy for breast cancer. It appears that if you’re over 70, forget it – either go private or get a sharp carving knife and do it yourself.

Stop feeding your teenage kids. Seems that if they’re overweight by 18 they’re more likely to get cancer and you don’t want to put them at risk now, do you? This a great excuse to stop paying for junk food treats and save money by feeding them low fat bread, water and the occasional few boiled vegetables and stewed meat. Helps the family budget, big time.

You stop eating, too. This way you will lose weight so your BMI gets down to whatever it’s supposed to be, er, this week. Spend the money you save on a lovely sunshine holiday … oh, no, wait … a cloudy holiday.

Invest in black curtains and keep yourself away from the sun at all times to avoid skin cancer. But hold on a moment … ah, you need to get about 10-20 minutes of sun a day to make enough Vitamin D to help keep your bones healthy. And that’s bare skin, none of your SPF 50 stuff. Your call?

FOOD AND DRINK: WHAT TO CONSUME

Garlic. Lots and lots of it. It is said to have many cancer-preventing properties, not least of which is that the smell of your breath is enough to keep potential cancer cells cowering in horror. Also very handy for warding off vampires, fellow bus or train passengers, close colleagues, etc.

Onions. Ditto re: garlic as the two veggies are from the same family. Onions don’t necessarily make your breath smell like that of a polecat on heat, but they can get their revenge by challenging your rear end to keep quiet and smell free. Eat at your peril.

Dark Leafy Greens. They are good sources of the antioxidants called carotenoids which scavenge free radicals from the body before they can kickstart cancer, OK? Depending on which sort they are they can also turn your wee-wee a strange colour, give you the runs, and get stuck in your teeth. Small beer.

Red wine. (And grapes, but who needs them when red wine does the job too.) Grapes and red wine contain a substance called resveratrol - a strong antioxidant that can prevent cell damage. Red wine is also a good cure for a lot of things, really, but just watch you don’t overdo it. And don’t drive on it if you want to keep your license.

Green Tea. The flavonoids in green tea are thought to prevent the development of several types of cancer including colon, liver, breast, and prostate. Well, yeee haah. Become a tea granny. (Actually green tea tastes great, whatever its health promises.)

Blueberries. These are, of all berries, the best at providing you with cancer-fighting elements. Coincidentally they also stain your teeth, hands, and clothes, so you’re better off eating them in your bathtub. If you must eat them while dressed, ensure your clothing is a) ready to be thrown away or b) made out of utterly synthetic fabric (yuk!) and therefore immune to staining.

Mushrooms. Many mushrooms contain compounds that can help the body fight cancer. Some mushrooms may not help fight cancer but will make you fly at an altitude of 36,000 feet without an airplane. Some other mushrooms look very pretty but could kill you long before cancer gets a look in. Mushrooms are interesting.

Cruciferous vegetables. This includes such delights as broccoli, cauliflower, cabbage, and Brussels sprouts because they contain strong antioxidants which may help decrease cancer risk. They also tend to make you flatulent, so if you gorge yourself on them ensure you spend some time in the open air afterwards, or if you are indoors, seek some solitary “me-time.” At all costs avoid crowded public places, buses, and trains unless you want to be very, very unpopular.

Olive oil. Consume gallons of it. I mean gallons. Don’t just put it in salads or woks, frying pans etc. to cook foods but also use it to brush your teeth, massage your feet, lubricate your car, unstick jammed locks, open rusty jars. Take a bath in it. Seriously. According to the popular media it’s a cure-all that knows no equal. And if you have a bit of money to invest, buy an olive grove because this stuff is becoming a pop-media panacea. Just watch you don’t spill it on yourself because one thing it won’t help, is your dry cleaning bills.

Tomatoes. They contain a substance called lycopene which even my own doctors have said show some evidence of help in urinary cancers, especially those of the prostate. Don’t like the raw variety? That’s cool, because the lycopene in them is best released by cooking the toms in a bit of – guess what – olive oil. And should you find the odd one or two rotten ones in your kitchen, just save them to throw at your most hated politician. They work a treat.

Don’t drink neat spirits or other strong booze, to avoid mouth or esophageal cancer. Ensure you always take plenty of water with it. Other mixers are OK too but watch for the sweet ones – sugar is supposed to be bad for you, too, according to the manufacturers of artificial sweeteners. Then again, artificial sweeteners are supposed to be bad for you and even cause cancer, if you heed the research produced by “scientists” and paid for by the sugar producers. ZZZzzzzzz.

For more information? Try the popular press. For some real information about cancer in the UK (and it’s very useful if you’re in another country, too) check out Macmillan. They are truly amazing.

If you want to know what I do for a day job (and maybe need some help with your writing) check me out on HowToWriteBetter.net.

Can you shout that a bit louder, please?

Hello again and welcome to an amusing little scenario that happened to me yesterday.

Picture this example of what should have been the filming of some reality TV...

SCENE: Interior, waiting area stretching across what amounts to a long, wide corridor - large radiology department of even larger British hospital...about 40 people sitting around waiting, some anxious, some thrilled (well, the pregnant women waiting for ultrasounds, anyway) others chatting, reading, staring out of window.

NURSE: (AT FAR END OF SPACE, SHOUTING ACROSS ALL OTHER PATIENTS WAITING) Suzan St Maur please!

SUZE: (AT OTHER END OF SPACE, SHOUTING BACK) Won't be a moment, just going to the Ladies' Room quickly!

NURSE: (STILL SHOUTING) No, we're doing your kidneys, you must have a full bladder!

SUZE: (THINKS FOR A MOMENT, THEN SHOUTING) I haven't GOT a bladder! I wee into a bag!

SOUND EFFECTS: Total silence, followed by noise of 40-odd lower jaws hitting the floor.

40-odd heads swivel as if on tripods as Suze walks cheerfully past them to join exceedingly embarrassed and flustered nurse at other end of space. Flustered nurse begins apologizing profusely until she realizes Suze is convulsed with laughter, so starts laughing too.

Happy ending. (And my kidneys are OK for now.)

What news from you? Please share in a comment here.

Sz xx

PS ... if you want to see what I do for a day job (a site called HowToWriteBetter.net) click here. I look forward to catching up with you there.

NHS cuts in the UK: at last, some truly realistic proposals

Here in the UK we, like many other nations, have suffered a great deal as a result of the recent recession. Despite our government assuring us that the National Health Service (NHS) - which provides free healthcare for the population – is not going to suffer serious cuts, in effect and all that, the reality may be somewhat different.

However instead of looking at cuts that could affect the delivery of cancer services along with many other vital functions, perhaps the NHS could do without the following measures to improve cost-effectiveness:

Parking control gates and pay machines: expensive technology and half of them don’t work properly. Removal of these would more than compensate for the loss of parking payment revenue. All they would need now is one security guard patrolling with a large Pitbull Terrier trained to bite anyone sneaking guiltily back to their car laden with shopping bags from Tesco, Waitrose, Sainsbury, etc.

Hand sanitizers: silly little squirty boxes used mostly these days for visitors to hang their bags on while waiting for the ward doors to open immediately prior to visiting time. Far more effective – and cheaper – is to sit visitors on those awful plastic chairs at least 2 metres away from patients to avoid infection, preferably facing away from said patients. And while we’re about it why not sit them outdoors (where appropriate, i.e. probably not outside a 17th floor ward) looking into the ward where their folks are? Easy and cheap!

Extensive male and female toilets: oblige all in-patients to have urinary catheters fitted on admission and be hooked up to wee-wee bags. OK, the infection rate might rise a bit, but toilet numbers could be reduced substantially with consequently large cost savings on cleaning, plumbing repairs, removal of graffiti, etc. – a mere bagatelle compared with the cost of NICE’s latest approved bargain-basement drugs for UTIs. Frequent visitors could be offered urinary catheterisation too, to save them using visitors’ toilets which could then be reduced to a few in a shed by the main door.

Restaurants and cafés: oh, please! Who are we trying to kid? We all know that hospital food is bland, cheap and boring. So dressing that up in cutesy bright coloured packaging and calling it “Tasty Delights from the Hospital Bistro Stinko” ain’t going to impress anyone. Let’s just call it all “sludge” and be done with it. Dispense it from the rented slot machines along with the fizzy-pop drinks, stale cakes and cheap potato snacks.

TV, radio, internet, telephone, the latest from the Starship Enterprise and messages from outer space at your bedside: half the time these fancy systems cost fortunes to use. They’re manned and monitored by nice people who sweep by every few days on the ward asking if yours is working OK, because a) it usually isn’t and b) if it is most of us don’t know how to switch it on, never mind use it. I know the NHS probably gets a kick back from the companies providing these services but at what expense of having to dust and clean the damned things? Anyway, whatever happened to good old-fashioned (and free) hospital radio?

Hospital shops manned by volunteers: OK, an opportunity to use volunteers to sell books, magazines, gifts etc. to guilty visitors when they turn up and realise they’ve forgotten to bring some sort of goody to cheer up the patient their visiting. But that’s the visitors’ problem. Tell them to go across the street and buy that stuff from a supermarket or corner store, so freeing up volunteers to make tea and coffee for the patients – and/or staff - instead.

And what about out in the community? Take the automated, screen-based check-in facilities when you come to visit your GP, for example. You tap the screen with your finger and after asking you a few brainless question the computer usually finds you and checks you in. Of course it’s too easy to say hi to the receptionist you’ve known for 20 years so she knows you’re here for your appointment? People are cheaper – and a lot friendlier.

What tips have you got to help the NHS make some truly realistic cuts in the United Kingdom? Please share them here, no matter how outrageous!

Check out what I do for the day-job on HowToWriteBetter.net

10 reasons why I love my urostomy pouch

The other day I received my valued copy of the Urostomy Association Journal and was perusing the contents page when I spotted the title of an article. "Ha! That looks like something I might write," I said to myself. I duly turned to page 40 and saw my own face staring up at me. "Ha again!" I said to the dogs. "This explains it. I did write it."

In fairness to my senior moment it has been a few months since I wrote that but I still felt a prize idiot. So as a penance (and also to share it with you as I don't believe the Urostomy Association Journal has an online presence yet) here it is...

10 REASONS WHY I LOVE MY UROSTOMY POUCH

By Suzan St Maur

I know that many people with stomas prefer a very sensitive and private approach to dealing with them, but during my whole journey through bladder cancer (plus a short detour into unrelated breast cancer along the way) I’ve found that openness and humour have helped me – and quite a few others – to deal with the trials and tribulations.

That’s one of the reasons why back in 2005 when I had been dealing with bladder cancer for 2 years and then was diagnosed with the breast tumour, I started my online “blog,” Cancer Comic Strip.

The other reason why that came about was because around the same time a good friend of mine with metastatic colon cancer, who had been given three months to live some 5 years earlier and is still going strong today, called me to complain that there were no good cancer-related jokes on the internet so get on and provide some. Off I went and did it. Check it out if you want some chuckles! (NB: I do NOT sell advertising space, sorry stoma product retailers - it’s non-commercial.)

The Big Chop: an inevitable next step

Anyway after more or less keeping the bladder cancer under control across 7 years of TURBTs, BCG instillations, BCG and Interferon instillations etc. etc. my consultant finally said words to the effect of “let’s cut the cr*p and get your bladder our before the cancer decides to go walkabout.” I had a radical cystectomy with formation of ileal conduit in May 2010 and am now the proud wearer of a wee bag.

I remember sitting on the loo in the hospital the morning of the operation and thinking, “this is the last time I will pee in the conventional manner.” An historical milestone! At the time I was a little apprehensive of how things would work out. But now, 6 months later (as I write this) I am counting my blessings. Here’s why...

1.Having had the RC and knowing that the cancer had not even infiltrated the muscle wall, chances of it having spread beyond my bladder are pretty small.

2.As my consultant whipped out my “girlie bits” at the same time as my bladder I know that I can’t get ovarian, cervical or endometrial cancer. (Useful as I’ve had breast cancer already.)

3.The lymph nodes taken out all tested negative, and I’m assured I won’t get lymphaedema in my nether regions in the same way as I have in the mastectomy-side arm.

4.Six months post-surgery my conduit is working well and my kidneys show up as normal size on ultrasound.

5.I’ve only experienced two leaks since using a pouch – on both occasions the pouch had been applied by a stoma nurse. This is something my local stoma girls do not find in the slightest bit amusing, especially when I remind them of it.

6.Never again will I have to sit on some dubious seat in an even more dubious ladies’ room, because now I empty into the toilet bowl from a safe distance.

7.I now pee like a man, standing facing the back wall of a toilet cubicle. This is a source of much fascination for anyone weird enough to peer under the partition, seeing a lady going wee-wees with her feet pointing in the wrong direction.

8.If my pouch becomes full while I’m driving along a country lane, I merely pull over into a gateway, hide behind the car, and empty it. If I’m helping at a horse show (regular hobby) I don’t have to walk through half a mile of mud to use the horrible portable toilets; I just go behind a bush.

9.If my pouch becomes full while I’m sat in a traffic jam I know I should have a nightbag to keep in the car, but in the meantime I just use an empty Coke bottle.

10.Wearing a pouch sure beats the hell out of dealing with the pain, burning and other discomfort associated with “conservative” bladder cancer treatments.

Can anyone else add some reasons to be grateful for the wee bag? I’m sure I’ve left some out...

Suzan St Maur is a freelance writing coach & editor, as well as being the author of over 20 nonfiction books of her own on a variety of topics. You can catch up with her latest ways of helping you write better at HowToWriteBetter.net

Gosh, I'm a famous author (huh?)

Today saw me experiencing a trip down memory lane with very mixed feelings ... a return to dear old Willow Ward at Northampton General Hospital where my cancerous bladder and various other (thankfully non-cancerous) organs were removed and recycled into the incinerator last May.

Purpose was to see my good friend Gillian who got there several weeks before me last May and is still there ... having been through the most awful time with surgery that went wrong, numerous other complications and a medical horror story that would shock a zombie or vampire. Thankfully she is finally on the mend.

As I passed by the nurses' station I caught site of a nice young HCA (health care assistant a.k.a. nursing auxiliary in old money) and said hello - I remembered him from my spell there.

"Hi, how are you now?" he replied.

"Surely to God you don't remember me?"

"Yes, I do. You're the author."

Fame at last! With the hundreds of women passing through that surgical ward he actually remembered "moi," because I, er, well ... wait a minute.

He probably remembered me after my late night ramblings, off my face on oramorph, when I expect I bored him and the other staff witless with ramblings about my books.

As my mind turned to "Heaven only knows what else I bored the poor lad with" I was tempted to slink out of there in shame.

But as I left he waved goodbye and asked me what new books I've got coming out. I told him (another one about horse jokes) ... but I kind of wished I had written one about the lovely, lovely staff on that acute surgical ward and the deep personal interest they take in all their patients.

I know the British NHS (National Health Service) has its faults, but you can't beat the dedication of its people.

And on a lighter note, enjoy this lovely old (pre-prohibition of flowers in hospitals) story ... how many nurses wish they had the chutzpah to do this?

A big shot business man had to spend a couple of days in the hospital. He was a royal pain to the nurses because he bossed them around just like he did his employees.

None of the hospital staff wanted to have anything to do with him. The head nurse was the only one who could stand up to him. She came into his room and announced, "I have to take your temperature."

After complaining for several minutes, he finally settled down, crossed his arms and opened his mouth.

"No, I'm sorry, the nurse stated, "but for this reading, I cannot use an oral thermometer." This started another round of complaining, but eventually he rolled over and bared his rear end.

After feeling the nurse insert the thermometer, he heard her announce, "I have to get something. Now you stay JUST LIKE THAT until I get back!"

She leaves the door to his room open on her way out. He curses under his breath as he hears people walking past his door laughing. After almost an hour, the man's doctor comes into the room.

"What's going on here?" asked the doctor.

Angrily, the man answers, "What's the matter, Doc? Haven't you ever seen someone having their temperature taken?"

After a pause, the doctor confesses, "Well, no. I guess I haven't. Not with a carnation anyway."

Wee-Wee Whoopsie

Happy New Year! And if you're thinking that you haven't much to celebrate, oh yes you have ... as a dear friend who at the age of 50 has advanced Multiple Sclerosis and I were saying on the phone earlier, "we're still here!" And if you're reading this, so are you.

I was just marking up my shiny new 2011 calendar with a string of medical appointments including one to visit the stoma nurses on January 20th.

The last time I went to have my urostomy checked out I thought I would entertain the nurse by telling her how the only two times I have experienced a wee-wee leak were times when the appliance was put on by a stoma nurse.


When we got to the point where a new bag was to be put back on me, she handed me the necessary equipment and with a snarl, said "You'd better do this yourself." UroKarma strikes again. No laughter. I looked around for a drain to crawl down.

Don't forget to check out Amy Marash's delightful blog, CancerIsSoFunny - her drawings are wonderful and her take on the funnier elements of her own cancer journey is priceless.

And for more wonderful humour that isn't health related - but amazingly, makes you cry with laughter without the use of a single smutty word or thought - have a look at Jeanne Robertson's website. She's 6 foot 2 inches tall, 68 years old, from North Carolina, and one of the funniest women I've ever observed on either side of the Atlantic.

Let's hope 2011 gives us even more to laugh about, and less to fear and loathe.

Sz xx

Guest post: My Beauties - what a gift! By Jackie Dunn

Many thanks to fellow breast cancer survivor Jackie Dunn who got somewhat more than she had bargained for when undergoing breast reconstruction surgery ...! Here's her story:

After about a year following the chemotherapy and radiotherapy, the latter which left great gaping holes under my arm and under my right breast, I was definitely not impressed with hospitals and regular treatment. However, knowing there is always a light at the end of the tunnel, I decided to get well with the zeal of a mad-woman let loose after my release.

Because the skin was very thin and difficult to heal following the radiotherapy – something which I am sure I was not told about, I sulked and screamed for a while. Then got over myself and healed.

A while down the road, I asked my GP for a referral. I wanted new boobs. You see, I had not been told that with the radiotherapy, that I might experience hard tissue on the breast. The right breast was getting very hard. I was single and still wanted to have 2 normal-looking breasts to fill my bra, which was about a size 34 C then. Along I went to plastic surgeon – Mr V. in Leicester, one of the finest in the UK. He was compassionate and told me that my skin had not healed sufficiently. Perhaps in time. Perhaps never.

So, 6 months later, I followed the same route; GP, then Mr V and then rejection. Hmmmmm, so there would be another way, I thought. So I started by sending Mr V. gifts. At one time, a bottle of fine wine. Then a wonderful card saying how wonderful he was and his bedside manner was just the best. Eventually, we got together again, this time on first-name terms. He agreed that he would give it a go, to speak. And he measured me up for the boobs that I wanted – after all, I wanted a matching pair didn’t I? We decided on the size, the weight and the shape. It was like looking for a great pair of shoes when you have so many to choose from and only one lifetime choice. Better get it right.

He did tell me that I would be added to the waiting list and I said that would not be necessary, that his personal PA was just waiting for the nod and I would be top of the list. More on this another time, and suffice to say that I was booked in the following week.

Pre-med. Gowned up, fastened at the front this time, I was wheeled to the pre-op room. Mr V. came in to see that I was ok. He also was gowned up with a mask under his chin. He looked a bit worried when he approached me. “Mrs Dunn,” he said, “we have a situation here. Your notes have not been found; they seem to be between the four hospitals you were dealing with. So there you have it. You have a choice to make here, and I cannot help you. Whatever you decide, will be recorded and you will sign to agree on the action.

You can either go home and we’ll let you know when your notes turn up – giving the full size and weight of your agreed silicones . Or you can verbally agree here and now and we’ll get on with the operation.”

Woozily I said, “just get on with it and fill the gaps” …. Signed a piece of paper and then all around me scurried into action.

When I awoke, back in the ward, the next morning, I was trussed up like a chicken. The bandages were protruding really quite a lot and then another doctor came along to see how I was doing.

“Doctor,” I said, “I seem to have a lot of swelling, here. Not quite as I expected, actually.” “Mrs Dunn” he said in a serious manner, “there is no swelling”. He and I gulped, in an awkward sort of way …. No swelling, eh? And so back off to sleep to allow his words to sink in.

So, getting used to my now and forever rather large breasts, I now refer to them as ‘my beauties’ . In actual fact, we have a birthday celebration for them each year. They suit my personality and are one of my greatest souvenirs of the final cancer chapter.

Jackie x

Have a look at Jackie's great website, "The String Bag" ...

Many thanks to Animation.Comedy.Com for the loan of their lovely pic of Marge.

Hello again and how to prepare for a hospital stay

I'm back, having become an accomplished "urostomate" and of course, not having lost my sense of humour, I thought you might enjoy this little ditty (original author unknown):

How to prepare for the hospital

Going into the hospital is never fun to begin with, but with these tips you should be able to prepare for your stay, and minimize the discomfort when you get there.

1. Lay stark naked on your lawn and ask a gardener to probe you with his weedkiller applicator.

2. Drink two litres of Eggshell One-Coat Coverage Interior Flat White #2. Then have your child stuff his slinky down your throat.

3. Put a real estate agent's 'Open House' sign in your front garden and lie on your bed dressed in a paper napkin with straws stuck up your nose.

4. Put your hand firmly down into your food processor on the “chop” setting while practising your smile and repeating: "mild discomfort".

5. Set your alarm to go off every ten minutes from ten PM to seven AM, at which times you will alternately puncture your wrist with a Phillips (squarehead) screwdriver, stab yourself with a knitting needle and wrap several elastic bands very tightly around your upper arm.

6. Remove all fresh food from your house and replace it with "boil in the bag" culinary delights from the back of your freezer which you haven't defrosted in over 10 years.

7. With several strands of Christmas fairy lights strung from a coat stand and onto yourself, walk slowly up and down the hall. One familiar with this, practise going to the washroom in similar fashion.

8. Urinate into an empty lipstick tube and ensure you don't miss, even if you're a woman.

9. Rub a bit of honey on your left buttock, drop your pants, go over to a wasps' nest, bend over and shake it just a bit.

10. Make sure that there is no toilet paper in your bathroom, eat a bowl of cherries, and have your partner ignore you completely as you plead for her/him to come and bring you a roll of paper.

Having spent three weeks in a UK hospital this year I find the above not quite so funny, as I might have otherwise. I wonder why?