Daily Reckless : Dr Farquar-Smith

This week - Aversion Therapy

Each time I get in the bath the wrong end the taps stick in my back and I think I’m being ‘held up’. Last time I had to hand over all my bath toys. I’m frightened. (By Fooge)

Dr F. Try showering in future. I know films like ‘The Shining’ and ‘Psycho’ are produced and directed to make us feel vulnerable in our own shower. It’s hard to defend yourself against your deep-seated manic-psychosis with soap in your eyes. Leave your wallet in another room with a big sign pointing to it for would-be burglars. You will come to no harm if you leave the patio door open like last time.

I’m afraid of navel rings. Every time I see them I walk into a lamppost. (By Fooge)

Dr F. Yes I know. This is what to do. Paint the lamposts in your town day-glow colours to prevent this. Those Y-shaped knickers poking out the back of hipster jeans seem to effect the steering of my car. I’ve never been in an accident but I’ve caused plenty.

I have an acute aversion to people who dress up for car boot sales as if they have a fiver to spend at Ascot. (By Fooge)

Dr F. It behoves me to warn you of such places. Let’s turn it on its head. It’s a good job people don’t go to Ascot mistaking it for a car-boot sale. You would have ugly men and women all trying to get everything free wearing ridiculous ill-fitting clothes milling about looking like a bunch of tossers all smelling of horseshit.

I’m afraid of what my occasional table does when it is off-duty. (By Fooge)

Dr F. Be warned it may try to be an exact replica when nobody is looking.

I’m afraid of ‘Postcard Carousel Wars’. When a pensioner becomes hostile and tugs the rotating card display in an aggressive anti clockwise manner when I am trying to keep it still to read one I may wish to buy on the other side. (By Fooge)

Dr F. To avoid this kind of confrontation push your brolly through the carousel to poke off postcards on your enemy’s side so they have to release their vicelike grip to pick them up.

I am scared stiff of the shite reading material on offer when waiting to be seen by you. Those magazines you find in your waiting room devote whole pages to sell you 'ornate' and 'exquisite' figurines of porcelain that are depicting a flower woman with a bird of paradise nestling on a lambs head, or similar, and not content with one hideous example they then try to get you to collect the whole set. (By Fooge)

Dr F. I remember you. You’re the spotty little jerk I used to beat up at school. Just because you now look like Brad Pitt and married the French teacher doesn’t give you the right to criticise my workplace. At least I made something of myself. I expect you work for BT or something. Am I right?

Sorry I was out of order. Why don’t you come by my yacht and we can bury the hatchet over a couple of Martinis and a cruise on the Med. It’s just a thought. I understand you have a big caseload but the century old Champers has just reached temperature inside my emerald encrusted executive jet and I have ‘J-Lo’ my naked female chauffeur in my 1200 horse-powered Aston outside waiting to take us to the airport. (By Fooge)

Dr F. (Bummocks!) Er.. Your cat scan could be worse. Let’s do this thing before chemo starts. No time like the present. You are so right about our shit magazines. I will torch them inside the very shop they are sold right away. I will machine-gun all the staff in my department responsible for contributing them. Can I bring Monica in ‘clinical waste’? She would be up for it. She loves boats. I took her backwards up the canal in a dinghy I borrowed once. Sorry about the school thing. It was ‘Bosher Banks’ that said ‘the last time I saw a face like yours I dipped garlic bread in it” not me.