So, this morning I had a vasectomy… the whole event was like an anxiety nightmare… naked, whilst being handled and discussed by a doctor, a student and two nurses… the embarrassment actually made me laugh…. I shall be watching the inauguration with an ache in my testicles as the anaesthetic wears off… I will always remember the day Trump took office. Anyone else remember historical days for different reasons?
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Hahaha that really made me laugh. Sorry. The answer to your question is no but as a fellow elective blank firer I feel your pain and offer you my solidarity. 🤘
I’ve been glancing at Facebook through the day for updates from a friend who is at the hospital where his wife is having their second child. I would say that it might be better to hold on so kiddy 2 isn’t born on Trumpmas, but she’s been in labour since 5 o’clock yesterday and I’m sure she’s eager to get it over with. Actually, he’s gone quiet for the last couple of hours so fingers crossed everything is going as it should now.
Having catheter changed in front of an audience of 9 student nurses, all female, shed me of vestiges of embarrassment forever.
And a bit of a same historical day story, I was stabbed in the back during a shop robbery on the same day as the Zeebrugge Ferry disaster.
My hernia op did the same for me. It was a teaching hospital and of course I consented when a small group of medical students asked if they could examine me before the operation. It turned out I was their first hernia, so I was standing there for some time with my hairy bum sticking out the back of one of those gowns that do up at the back, the front of the gown hitched up over my shaved genitals, as four young women took it in turns to crouch down and palpate my groin while saying, ‘Could you cough for me again please, Mr Gatz?’ Not much point in being bashful about anything medical after that.
So far as I recall nothing (else) of historical significance happened that day.
My first colonoscopy turned out to be a training exercise for several student doctors (of both sexes). I remember asking “Is there anybody else who’d like to look up my bum?”, which is a phrase I’d never imagine I’d have to say.
It was my mum’s 65th birthday.
Wait. You were stabbed in the back during an armed robbery??!!
Yep. Two guys came in to the small TV and Hi-fi shop where I worked on my own. They pretended to be interested in an Amp, grabbed me, slashed me across the cheek and chin with a knife, forced me to open the till, took £30 and then stabbed me in the back.
Another customer then came in as they left, chased them and caught one in a local park. I dialed 999 then collapsed on the floor. Then 2 weeks in hospital, court case six months later, both sent down (5 and 2 years) then change of career. Still don’t like people standing to close behind me! But better than I was for a few years afterwards.
There really is nothing worse than hi-fi snobs, eh?
Glad to hear you recovered.
Jeez! That sounds terrible.
It was. But I always try and follow the advice of the great philosopher Norman Stanley Fletcher, “Don’t let the bastards grind you down”.
Five years wasn’t enough if you ask me. They had the money. The stab in the back was unnecessary. You were hardly going to chase armed men. For all they cared you could have died.
Anyway. Well done on your recovery and your phlegmatic stance these days. I think I can allow a bit of craziness in your music taste 😉
Craziness? @Tiggerlion It’s my solitary vote for Bowie’s first album isn’t it?
That’s one of the symptoms. But, at least you have insight.
I associate the day after Diana’s funeral with having to make a long train journey from York to Plymouth to fix a computer system.
We went to see The Full Monty on the day of Di’s Funeral, the only ones in the cinema in Brighton.
I played golf.
Not the day of the funeral, but on the night of the crash my girlfriend at the time and I attended a fancy dress party with a ‘come as a news story’ theme, or something similar. Whatever the specifics; we decided to go as the couple at the centre of that summer’s hottest media storm. Di and Dodi.
Hell of a party, from what I can recall. Good enough to leave us facing an early morning tube back to Ealing, coming down hard and still in full regalia. A difficult journey…
I drove through Windsor, past the castle and past a camera crew. On news footage later they showed an empty Windsor and just before the shot cut away the top of my car appeared on the rise up the hill
fame !!!!
I wandered around our town centre during the funeral. Almost every shop was closed – the only exception being a small newsagent who remained open.
I was a retail manager for Waterstones and we were ordered to close for the morning. I watched some of the service, had a bath, then the odd experience of walking into town long deserted Satu day streets to open at midday.
On the day of the funeral my girlfriend wanted to watch it, I went into the other room and read the paper to the sound of the man opposite repairing his roof. There was much hammering to be heard.
I had my 50th birthday party the night before the funeral in a pub in Muswell Hill. Quite a few people couldn’t come, because London was effectively cut in two by the security round the funeral route up the Edgware Road. No matter, we had a good party and I got to play my new birthday Telecaster with some musical mates.
We went to the pub the next morning to pick up stuff and the landlord, the only Rasta landlord I’ve ever encountered, was playing the funeral on the big footy screen. He had the sound down and was playing Bob Marley at maximum volume while enjoying a massive spliff. ‘We all grieve in our own way, man,’ he said with a wink.
Later that afternoon we went to a wedding in darkest Kent. The vicar put the mockers on the whole event by insisting that we all devoted some quality time to remembering the People’s Princess before we got on with the main event. The bride (and the bride’s mother) was furious.
A very strange weekend all round.
Having moved from Muswell Hill to darkest Kent this year, your post serves as a very good parable for the change in my environment. Although it was good to be forced to accept that I really hadn’t been living in England for the previous 15 years.
We were on the Palace Pier in Brighton taking pictures in the evening on the day she died. Several people passed fairly hostile comment on “Them” (us) with our cameras, linking us to the paps in Paris.
It was a fairly short step from anyone with a camera being involved in Diana’s death to anyone with a camera being a terrorist or paedo, or both. Looking back, I think it was the day that this country began it’s long slide into fuckwittery.
Noon. Live Aid. BBC 1.
Episode of “The Champions” on ITV. No-brainer.
Ha ha! I was at an 8th birthday party. It was the first time I saw a Zoid.
Pre-Internet obviously.The day the night that John Lennon was gunned down, either I TV or the BBC showed a clip of John singing imagine from around 1975 with on acoustic guitar in front of the studio audience. The assassin was sitting Front row wearing A tuxedo. I was bellowing out, it’s him! Look it’s him! I have never seen that footage ever again.
This clip..?
Nope.from what I can recall John was sitting on a stool and it must’ve been in the US.
8 December 1980: Four 15-year-olds went to see Queen at Wembley Arena and stayed for the encores, so we missed the last train out of Victoria. It seems incredible now, but back then you could sleep in the trains parked overnight in the platforms. We had to leap off one as it started to pull out for Ramsgate at 4.00am.
We got the first train to Brighton and crawled home with the milkman. I thought my mum would be livid when she heard my key in the lock, but she appeared on the stairs and said “One of your lot’s been shot.” I was partly devastated by his murder, but mostly delighted that my mum put me in the same ‘lot’ as John Lennon.
Lightweight! I had a vasectomy at 8.30 in the morning (just me and the doctor) and I was at work by 10. A bit sore and sitting down very gingerly but otherwise none the worse for the experience.
Back to the thread. On 22 November 1963 I was in hospital having my appendix removed. JFK was assassinated on that day and the Beatles’ second LP With The Beatles was released. At 13 I cared very little for JFK’s fate (although the nurses gathered around the little black and white TV weeping openly told me something big had happened). The Beatles LP was a different story however. This was a life-changing event for me
A real man jogs home after his vasectomy.
Aye, and shagging the missus before teatime
Bollocks (bollocks?) to that, I had mine in a gap at lunchtime, performed in the changing room at the local hospital, by a surgeon in his 10 minute gap between ops. He then went and took someones kidney out and I went back to afternoon surgery, involving a 1/2 hour drive. It seems to have worked fine.
Luxury!
I was at an office leaving party once, and the Man of the Hour had had a vasectomy the day before. Some genius hired a stripper (there was hell to pay from the MD next day, I can tell you). This rather stocky policewoman turned up and did her thing, which culminated in her bearing down on the MotH and giving his meat and two veg a rather overfond squeeze. ‘Christ, me stitches!’ came the cry as he subsided in a whimpering heap. Party over.
up !….errrr
8 August 1963, I was on holiday with my mum and dad in Cornwall. It was probably the last time I went on a family holiday. I was 13 and already feeling like we were living in separate worlds.
Anyway, we drove to Land’s End that day in my dad’s two tone Hillman Minx (turquoise over cream was the official colour) and had our picture taken at the signpost which says “John O’Groats 846 miles” or whatever, like everyone does. Then we drove back to the caravan park we were staying at in St. Austell (or was it Par, next door).
The following day my dad bought a newspaper from the caravan park shop and the headlines were all about the Great Train Robbery.
A three million quid heist was a huge deal in 1963, but again I was too young to give it much thought. I was too busy looking for record shops in Cornwall.
http://i.imgur.com/bKhMWbf.jpg
The Cosh Commandos – TMFTL
They would have been modern day Robin Hoods if they hadn’t used that cosh on the driver!
Newspapers have come a long way since then. The layout looks positively archaic
I had been living in London for a year but had slipped back to Dublin for a brief visit and to get some work done with my old dentist. In the waiting room the news was reporting severe delays on the London Underground due to an electrical outage. After two hours in the dentist chair I turned on my phone to a flood of “are you ok?” texts. This was the day of the 7/7 bombings.
It became more surreal as I went back to watch the news that afternoon and saw one of the hospitals I’d been working in, the Royal London, feature heavily in the aftermath of the attacks. If I had been in London that day, I would have been working through the aftermath.
July 20, 1969, the Apollo 11 moon landing.
In grainy black and white we watched it on TV. I was back at my parents house for the week of my 19th birthday and my girlfriend and I stayed up to watch the moon landing live. The most momentous day in human history and everyone in the house had gone to bed except us.
I seem to recall it happened around 2 or 3am UK time and after what seemed like an eternity, it looked like nothing special on the TV coverage.
I do remember walking around Sheffield town centre a few days later, looking up at the moon and musing, “there are people up there right now”. That was kind of mind-blowing.
We were allowed to go home from school. Rode my bike home and watched the moon landing on our black and white TV. Mid afternoon I think it was. Seemed all quite unreal, unsurprisingly.