The best weblogs tends to gravitate towards a theme, for which they become an authority. Fraser has become world famous in Cricklewood for his skill at the exotic end of the culinary arts*. Gert is THE blogging authority on Opera and the art of performance. Tim Ireland has documented the paucity of government and our descent into the surveillance society.
I, on the other hand, write about my testicles.
Now that I am on the long, potholed road to recovery, let us examine the cut-out-and-keep instructions given to me by Dr Shipman ("Calm down madam - now you've signed these insurance doc... errr... consent forms, it's time for your vitamin injection. Yes. Your non-fatal vitamin injection.").
According to the sternly worded leaflet "So You Want To be a Jaffa", I've got to send two samples for analysis to make sure the op's been a sucess. That's two huge jars, to fill to the brim and cart ten miles to the Dorset County Hospital, with my trousers round my ankles and my face still in the hideous rictus of the vinegar strokes within two hours of scraping the man gravy off the ceiling.
Beforehand, I've got to clean out the old system to ensure that none of that nasty baby-making sperm is present. "The best method of doing this" says Dr Shipman's leaflet, "is through masturbation. This will take up to forty ejaculations and up to two months."
Forty? FORTY? TWO MONTHS? One week down the line, and I'm just about used to pissing out of it, let alone getting myself geared up for a two month hand shandy marathon. Christ on a bike, unless I get used to multi-tasking, I'll hardly have time for anything else; and I am certain this could dangerously deplete world scud supplies at a crucial point in the global war on terror.
Also: "Avoid intercourse for three days before submitting the specimen. Keep the specimen under your armpit. " They were laughing when they wrote that, the bastards.
Pray, then, not just for me and my hairy palms, but for the law enforcement community of this proud country. Y'see, I only ever get quality time to myself in the car these days, and, well, you know what I said about multi-tasking. What could possibly go wrong?
* As a matter of fact, I really ought to suggest sauted gonads by way of celebration of my hideous ordeal