For those who don’t know, I am an ostomate. I have a stoma. His name is Alan, and he has absolutely no manners. Queues with old ladies next to me, quiet moments in cinemas and theatres, hushed moments of serenity, and solemn moments at funerals mean nothing to him. He’s more than happy to let rip thunderous farts without warning, and often at the most inappropriate moments. “Sorry, sorry, I have a stoma” is perhaps my most often used phrase of recent times. I’m not sure anyone believes me…but that’s probably because, even after two and a half years, the inner schoolboy still finds it snortingly amusing.
You get given quite a bit of kit when you become an ostomate, but my favourite bit of kit is perhaps what I refer to as the ‘T-shirt holder’. It is genius in its simplicity. Nothing more than a small, thin piece of fabric with two miniature bulldog clips at either end, one simply attaches a clip to the fabric of your t-shirt at the front shoulder/chest region, and after rolling up your top, fasten the other clip to the bottom of the fabric once rolled-up. Eh voila…your top is kept out of the way of your stoma – hands-free – whilst you change your appliance. Genius!
Now, when I’m wearing a short-sleeved shirt, it’s often easier to simply remove your shirt and change my appliance ‘bare-chested’. When I was out with family and friends this weekend, that is exactly what I did – once I had unlocked the pub’s disabled toilet and securely locked the door behind me. Knowing as I do, even should someone else arrive at the door with their own Radar key, the door will not open if it is locked from the inside. As such, the rattle of a key in the door (whilst I stood at the sink wearing nothing but a smile from the waist up) gave me no cause for concern. Or it didn’t until the door was flung open and my view changed from the back of a locked door to one of drinkers at tables. The apologetic staff member in chef’s whites apologised and shut the door…just a little too late, as laughter rang out from fellow patrons outside the door.
Once out of the toilet, the group immediately apologised if I had heard any laughter, and assured me it was only because she had done exactly the same thing to someone else only the week prior! Once less battle there, at least.
Naturally, I complained, and whilst I was at the bar making my disquiet evident, I noticed the Radar key hung on a hook on the shelves. This key was different to mine, as it had a bright red fob. These are the override keys, I’m told. These override keys are used to give assistance should the bright red cord be pulled from within a disabled toilet. They are NOT designed to be used by staff for access to their own personal boudoir!
Although embarrassing, I wasn’t mortified. I cannot imagine the embarrassment should they do this when an elderly person is sat on the throne, however. If the use of an override Radar key as a norm is a practice at your place of work, please stop.
Playing Alan Shearer at Golf
I cannot tell you how excited my brother-in-law was ahead of the weekend. He had entered a golf tournament up in the Northeast through his local club, and was staggered and awe-struck in equal measure once he found out that the one player in the other pair he was to play the round against was none other than a certain Alan Shearer. Despite challenges to the contrary, he was adamant that it was THE Alan Shearer. Organisers had confirmed it apparently. I told him it would be hilarious if, once he started the tournament it turned out to be just a guy who shared the same name. Nope, it was definitely THE Alan Shearer – he just wanted to beat him…and then ask for selfies. “No hard feelings” was his rehearsed line.
It was surprising to see Alan Shearer on Match of the Day that Saturday night. He must have flown down to the studios after the golf tournament. Not the most eco-friendly thing to do, surely.
He didn’t play Alan Shearer at golf. Well he did, just not THE Alan Shearer. I would have laughed louder if his car hadn’t broken down.
