Earache

I decided, when I woke up, that I should return to the doctors; mostly because it was 2.30 am and I was in agony, the sort of pain that had me wimpering and roaming through the houses searching out various
combinations of painkillers.

I found myself again sitting in a waiting room marginally hotter than Satan's armpit, probably smelling as bad to boot, contemplating the possibility
of some kind of reward scheme akin to that of the local coffee shops; ten visits and a free prescription?

The doctor looked in the ear that wasn't hurting, and said it was inflamed. Then she looked in the one that was causing the troubles, since my shower yesterday, and made a sort of noise that I assume is
the medical equivalent of a plumber sucking in air over his teeth. The sort of sound that suggested that yesterday evening, after a week of swimming the act of showering delicately placed the final straw
upon the back of some hypothetical donkey's and my ear had shouted 'that's it, that's the fucking limit!' and shut its doors to the outside world; that I no longer had an ear canal but a swollen, raging
red pain tube allowing only the sound of its own screaming to be heard.

So she gave me a prescription for some drops, drops to kill bacteria, with steroids to leave my ears stronger and fitter than ever, and sent me on my way to sit in the pharmacy with the best air conditioning sipping on a concoction of iced sugar and e colours that
claimed to be 'naturally Kool' despite all evidence to the contrary on the natural front.

The ear drops seemed to promise to kill children on sight.