Mr A.B. Normal

Here’s a little known fact; the average adult (in the UK at least) can expect to get fewer than 2 mouth ulcers per year.  Over the past year or so I’ve had what seems like 2 per month. The latest one has been driving me mad and I mention it to the nurse a few weeks ago when I had my INR checked; “you should see himself about it.  It’s not normal”.  She often refers to the GP as ‘himself’.

So I do and he takes a swab from my mouth.  He also arranges a ‘big’ blood test; he wants to eliminate Crohn’s disease.  Crohn’s disease usually affects people in their 20s and 30s although there is now apparently a spike in the statistics among the 60-80 age group.  “So there are a lot of old crones around?”  It doesn’t get a laugh.

A few days later I get a call from the surgery; “your mouth swab is abnormal.  Doctor has left a prescription.  Don’t drink any alcohol while you’re taking the tablets”.  Fine.  “They’ll also turn your tongue and urine black.  Nothing to worry about”.

I also have the big blood test.  Results next week.

Yesterday was busy.  In between examining my tongue in the bathroom mirror, I was feeding photo paper and cartridges into an ever greedy printer.  Anniemay’s photography course is putting on an exhibition in the local Arts Centre.  She had offered to print her fellow students’ photos for display…..

The exhibition starts with wine and nibbles at 6.00pm and within an hour is pretty well packed.  We  take our leave and dash across Milton Keynes to get to The Stables for 8.00 because Anniemay has booked tickets to see Curtis Stigers; “Curtis who?” 

A vague memory of a ‘power balladeer’ from the mid-1990s with big hair and a penchant for flowery waistcoats crosses my mind.  The reality is a jazz quintet comprising men with sharp haircuts and sharp suits. Very sharp suits.  It could be the 1950s-60s.

“He’s the happiest drummer I’ve ever seen”. Anniemay points to the man at the back.  He’s happy because he knows what’s coming.  The piano, guitar and bass have all had their solos.  Now it’s his turn.  I stifle a laugh as I recall a scene from ‘Strange Fruit’ - a film about a group of ageing rockers getting together to record their comeback album.  The singer turns to the engineer, points at the drummer and says; “How am I supposed to hear myself while he’s building a shed?”

Drum solos (all solos?) are a bit like life itself; noisy, completely without shape or form and go on for far too long.

Mr Happy proceeds to bash hell out of his kit and I know I’m going to pay for it later.  Sure enough, just as I’m falling asleep, the Gods of Arrhythmia come knocking, demanding tribute.  I take my pills and wait an hour or so for my heart to settle back into its normal rhythm.  Live music can exert a heavy price on faulty wiring.

If you’re wondering about the title, it comes from the film Young Frankenstein.  The doctor’s assistant, Igor, is sent to the local mortuary to collect a brain for the creature.  He finds one in a bell-jar labelled ‘ABNORMAL’ which he interprets as having once belonged to a Mr A.B. Normal.  Well - it was funny at the time.