Tis been two score and 10 years since I last visited my physic. The last time I was in the first flush of manhood. Taut, straight and tall as a tree. But the years have lined my face, bent my frame and flecked silver in my gold spun braids......
As I sit in the waiting room I scan through the sundry magazines. Mud tablets are a wondrous innovation and are a perfect medium for the impression of West Saxon runes. But I digress. The last edition of 'Leech Quarterly' had a fascinating article entitled: 'The leech in Dark Age Medicine- will it replace trepanning as the therapy of choice?'
Dr Athelbald 'Banebreak' beckoned me into his 'Bleeding Room' and berated me softly:
"Well Flaxen, I don't see you very often, what can I do for you today?"
"Well physic, I suffer from a lack of flow of the water. And when I manage to proffer flow, tis stilted, and is relinquished only after much strain."
"Bend over Flaxen."
Afterward, my eyes watered.
"I see your malady much clearly now. Your male organ has waxed mightily and has grown to the size of a turnip. If it waxes much more you will be rocking from side to side whence in repose. I am going to cut my fingernails now; I will return in a thrice."
"I prescribe a course of leeches liberally applied to your arse, big fat, ARSE."
"What no boring a hole in my head?"
"Modern medicine considers trepanning barbaric and without therapeutic merit. These days we use only the finest leeches dredged from the midden pit."
"Tis a shame modern medicine, in all it's wisdom, cannot devise a diagnostic test which does not involve shoving a digit up my sensitive orifice."
"I feel your pain, Flaxen. But one day, I predict the apothecaries will devise an analytical test which, sadly, will do away with anal probing. When that day comes the profits of the apothecaries will wax mightily and lead to the development of more exotic, effective, and of course, more expensive leeches. That'll be 100 groats."
Sadly, I was disinclined to pay the Danegeld and thought it fiscally prudent to lop orf his impudent head. Did any of my indulgent readers notice- he never once called me king? Saucy Jute!