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This week - Idiosyncrasy I have thrush of the mouth ever since you told me to try and tell the difference between oral and anal thermometers by taste. Sorry to bad mouth you. Minnie Soretoo. Dr Farquar says: Gargle three times a day with gravel. It won’t stop your thrush but on the plus side it will stop you moaning to me about it. I keep finding drunks right where you left them. Jimmy Riddle Dr F: It’s a little known phenomenon that inebriated and collapsed pissheads are often perfectly at peace and in quiet repose where ever they fall. This is an ideal opportunity to rifle their pockets and get the next beer in. What about plumbers who install a new bathroom and still allow me to urinate in the wardrobe when I’m drunk. Ivor Leak Dr F: Stranger things have happened to me. Old fashioned as it seems, my wife and I don’t bother with water closets and simply put a chamber pot under our bed when the ashtray gets full. After a few drinks, like on her birthday and anniversaries, Mrs Smith will sometimes miss the toilet too. It’s a man’s prerogative to use the sink on occasions of intoxication. Who, when completely rat-arsed, desires to have to bend down when serving yesterdays lunch? Let me illustrate. On the operating table, my patients may often, through trepidation or lazy unconsciousness, have a trouser indiscretion and so, to save them further embarrassment during the anaesthetic (or at the point they ‘gazunder’), I have a series of guttering that trails to a beer barrel at the Nurses bar. This way all those other consultants who jeer at my surgery methods end up taking the piss whether they like it or not. I’m worried. My girlfriend shouts her own name during orgasm. Phil Mesell Dr F: Tricky one. Change her name by dipole. Turning her it into an anagram may just work. So, say, if her name is ‘Ghislaine’ for example, it might become “Is healing”. This will surely catch her out next time she enjoys the vinegar strokes when ignoring your overtures. On the other hand, my name ‘Dr Farquar Smith’ for instance, could be an anagram for err… lets see .. “Hard Farm Squirt” (bugger) I mean … “Hard Fart Squirm.” No, no it's “Hard Quim Farrts” Ummmph! Look.. just ask your girlfriend to call out ‘Darling’ that’s what the bloody word was invented for in the first place. Why do I have to go to a singles bar to find a married woman to have an affair with? Shamus Ablerk Dr F: Its amazing what singles double for. Lets face it, most people, they say, ‘have a double’. Personally, lager suits me and I just love ‘Grab a Granny’ nights. They are more experienced because they already get shagged twice week by the National Lottery. Thankfully after about eight pints they start to look like Judith Chalmers with less sun damage and, although their teeth keep moving long after they have finished talking, as the old saying goes, ‘many a good tune is played on an old fiddle’ or even, ‘the older the chicken… the better the soup’. I don’t even mind going to the Grunty Fen Ginger bread club dance once in a while to date Doris Filcher, or old ‘schizophrenic face’ as I like to affectionately call her. She has stunningly beautiful eyes but a nose like Ricky Tomlinson’s. I went on a Noise Abatement rally and protestors asked motorists to ‘honk’ for support. What’s that all about? Shawn Pubes Dr F: Life is full of odd little quirks. Look at Billie Piper for instance. No wonder the Daleks are frightened of her. How would you like to be attacked by a marmoset monkey with teeth like a Steinway piano? This is the reason I decided to test the rapid response unit of our Grunty Fen emergency services for myself. The other day I got lashed on Vermouth and drove my car on the way to “Ayatollah’s Grub Gaff”. I swerved into oncoming traffic, trying to avoid having to go to work the next day, and so found myself hanging from a tree looking down at an ugly twisted mangled wreck below. Yes, Mrs Smith was unconscious… and frankly the car looked like a bit of a ‘write off’ too. I phoned 999 and then ordered a pizza. Guess who turned up first? At least I was able to enjoy, suspended from a great height, a beautiful upside down view of the A10. Seconds later I was gorging my Deep Pan Tuscany Fisherman’s Thick Seamen Filled Cheesy Crust Special with Mushy peas and Chocolate Anchovies in the middle of an R.T.A. and associated carnage. Before you could say “full English breakfast with eggs bacon beans and fried slice,” I noshed it all in a thrice, just in time for when the paramedics turned up ….oh… and the garlic bread went too cold. So there you are. Always go to A&E on a full stomach, because intravenous food just doesn’t taste the same and the ketchup can be mistaken for a blood transfusion that somehow went horribly wrong.. I am a good and faithful God Fearing One Born Every Minute Christian who was brought up straight and true and not spared the rod from an early age. As a child I grew up to look forward to hearing and feeling the bite of a brass belt buckle across my buttocks from my Stepfather, Miss Shunerry our Sunday school teacher and any other friendly neighbourhood perverts that I could easily bribe. As the book of Deuteronomy and again in the Psalms advises, I also sleep on my right side each night so not to wake my ‘dinner ladies arm,’ as my Mother calls it. I also believe in the Son of God Our Lord and saviour Jesus H Christ on Rubber Crutches with Graceful Hallelujahs and a Large Helping of Forgiveness and donated ginger marmalade. However, I must complain how draughty our church is. How would J.C like it if He had to sit on hard pews frozen up His More Holier than Thou sausage kennel? Tyler Kitchen Dr F: Jesus doesn’t give a ‘Jamie Oliver panhandle’ for poorly insulated places of worship. Don’t forget he was born in a barn. But it must be said Our Lord knew the ultimate sacrifice by forfeiting his life for us sinners. Nailed to a cross at Golgotha, where it was draughty too. Even Peter, his disciple, climbed a ladder to start removing the nails, whereupon our Lord said unto him “No….Feet first, you bastard!!” Its Panto season! Oh no it feckin’ isn’t. Leon Tosser Dr F: You jest, squire, but have you any idea how much rehearsing goes into putting on a pantomime? It takes months, not days or weeks. Jaded and obscure ‘Has bean celebs’ usually have to be out of work for years to get a chance to be auditioned at all. Why? Because they work for feckall and don’t mind making themselves look like a right knob, that’s why. That’s what I call commitment. Every day for three gigs a day for eight months they inflict their talent-less bad timing and forgotten lines… on us… the theatre-going public. All because we encourage shit actors to force our kids to watch some ancient badly re-enacted dodgy bedtime story depicting transvestism child cruelty and other forms of human right abuse. Why can’t we just put it all behind us? It’s behind you now, ok? I said it’s BEHIND YOU! Then the tired and homeless wardrobe designers and choreographers have to hang around boutiques and bars for many hours before and after a show, hung-over from the last show's pointless celebrations, feeling like Andy Warhol looks. Tough job, eh? Mind you, if I had a chance to wear ladies clothes and theatre paint, I would be made up too. It won’t be long before David Beckham will be swapping his boots for glass slippers. His coach is a feckin’ pumpkin and he keeps missing the ball.
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