Well not quite, but an interesting day nonetheless. Today was the day of the long awaited medicals, or nearly not quite. Started off pretty well, with a lie in until ! Then the usual mad rush of trying to get four people ready to go out at the same time, two of whom aren't really that keen on the idea. The morning was spoiled somewhat by a phonecall from the doctor's surgery just before we left, to tell us that the doc wouldn't be in, and the appointment would need to be rescheduled again.
Arrrrrrggggghhhhh!! I don't need this. A bit of quick talking and the receptionist agrees to get us in for the X-rays and phone around to fit us in somewhere else for the medical bit. So we get there, and get a bit of good news - we can have the X-rays straight away and the doc feels so bad about cancelling our appointment to deal with his wife's broken dentures that he agrees to come in at to sort us out.
So, we get called in for the X-rays and everything goes without a hitch....then a commotion breaks out - turns out we are the first ever people to be X-rayed on the new digital machine, and the radiologist is a bit chuffed with himself. "Would you like to come in and see the pictures?" Well, I'm not one for watching other folks' home movies but it seemed such a shame to spoil the party....so we all four troop in to look at my perfectly formed ribs and clavicles. I was even reassuringly shown the shady outline of my heart, lungs and other assorted grillocks......"That bit there is your Dad's diaphragm"
We got a bit of a tour round Mrs Chipshaker's insides too. She doesn't half look thin when you take the outside bit away.
Anyway, now we have a couple of hours to kill, but it's chucking it down. So we nipped into
Then it's back to the surgery, to meet an elderly chap who is probably
Next we try three different sets of scales because both Mrs C and the Doc think they are faulty!
Then we move on to his obsession with my wife's breasts, after she reveals she had a minor operation as a child.
"Ah right, which jug was it m'love?"
"And do you have them checked regularly? No no no, not a mammogram, does he check em fer yer?" (looks at me and they both start laughing)
Then it's my turn - weight, height, no problem...he even has the good grace to skip over the revelations about my drinking habits....I probably wasn't totally truthful about the 6 pints and 15 glasses of wine a week but even this lesser amount I confessed on the form seemed excessive when you see it in black and white!
"Right young man....kit off.....oh my word, posh underpants!" (I'm thinking "It's like having a medical with Trinnie & Suzanne!)
"Okay kids...who wants to stick sharp needles in Dad?"
Until this point, they'd been sat quietly playing with a couple of toys but, all of a sudden, all hell breaks loose at the prospect of exsanguinating Dad - they are falling over each other to get there first and I'm beginning to thing "Jesus, he can't seriously be going to let the kids have a go?" Fortunately, he didn't but I'm sure I looked anaemic at that point! Mind you, he did let them watch whilst he took the blood. "See all that coming out? We use that to make Raspberry Ripple ice-cream for our tea"
Then he whips out his tape measure, and measures both my legs from hip to ankle and mutters "Hmm, same size...good job"
Turns out, "good job" meant 'a tidy piece of work', rather than 'fortunate' - he'd noticed I'd put on the form that I'd broken my leg a few years back and he was checking whether I had one leg shorter than the other. I still can't work out why that should be relevant but it is strangely reassuring to know that my legs are both the same length.
He was also very interested in an eye problem I'd had since birth (only one of them works) and told me to get an opticians report.
I have to say, all this leaves me wondering just how rigorous New Zealand Immigration criteria are. Seems to me that if you are a pirate, you're buggered - you'd trigger every alarm bell on the checklist....one eye, dodgy leg - you've got no chance and that's before you even mention the parrot.
Nevertheless, not a bad day all in all - rather entertaining and a medical reassurance that Mrs Chipshaker's jugs are in fine fettle!
Uma tiraha, Turi whatia