We were up stupidly early to go to the doctors to get the second part of our travel jabs done. We had these last year when we went to Thailand, but had to remember to go back for the booster which will protect us from a disease (hepatitis? I should probably have been paying attention) for the next 25 years. "You might not need to have it again," commented the nurse in what seemed like a baldly honest assessment of my chances of making it to 70. I think she was actually trying to say that changes in medical practice might make the jab unnecessary.
I've had a few injections in the last few years and always managed to deport myself bravely, chuckling at the mild pain and refusing to be freaked out by the needles (though fastidiously avoiding watching them going into my vulnerable skin). And usually that's pretty easy as there's only been a tiny prick and few consequences. But this one hurt a surprising amount and continued to do so for the rest of the day. At one point my wife accidentally banged my upper arm, "Ow, mind my BCG!" I said.
"Enjoying quoting your own comedy are you?" she replied rather witheringly. It was indeed a callback to the Rod Hull sketch last performed in the last century. It made me laugh at how unimpressed and pitying my wife was.
There was a small boy in the waiting room who was missing school to get injections. He seemed quite calm about it all beforehand. Though at one point he said, "Can we go now?"
His mum said, "Have you seen the nurse yet?"
"Yes," he lied, unconvincingly. It was a bold attempt to get out of all of this. Though he left at the same time as us and still looked perfectly happy. His family were taking him out to get a present for being so brave. Where was my present? I had only moaned a bit about the upper arm ache.
I recall having to go for injections when I was his age (or maybe a bit younger- I don't think I'd started school). My mum told me we were going into town for my booster. At the time I was a big fan of the Bleep and Booster cartoons (they were in the Blue Peter annual,but I presume on the TV show as well - who remembers them? Good possible googlegag there. They were an alien and a speccy schoolboy or something) and being young and idiotic believed that we were going into town to meet them. "Bleep and Booster?" I asked and my mum, possibly not understanding what I was talking about or maybe thinking, "Ha ha, this will be a good way to make sure this idiotic child comes to the doctors," said "Yes."
I was very excited to be going to see my heroes and so all the more disappointed when I got to the room where I expected to see them only to have a needle stuck into my arse (it might have been my arm, I don't recall). No wonder I went off Bleep and Booster. They had sold out and allowed their names to be used for infant trickery. The cartoon fuckers.
I think I also got given a sugar cube to eat, which as the sweet-toothed young fool that I was was another massive treat. But again I was tricked- there was some weird medicine all over it. It hardly tasted of sugar at all. Such betrayals. And ones that remain in my brain four decades later. I genuinely never liked Bleep and Booster as much after that.
Tonight we went the the Brixton Academy to see the Ben Folds Five. There are only three of them, it's an hilarious joke similar to the one perpetrated by my first University sketch troupe, "The Seven Raymonds"- there were only five of us and none of us were called Raymond - though one of the Ben Folds Five is called Ben Folds so they've missed out on an extra gag there.
I don't go to many music gigs (in fact Ben Folds has been playing at about a third of the ones I have attended) but the Brixton Academy was the first proper music venue I ever came to. I saw Buzzcocks here in the 1980s (or maybe early 90s) and I was properly terrified that I would be forced to take drugs, beaten up, raped and murdered (though not necessarily in that order). I think I was probably living in London at the time, but it might have been before then and I was certainly scared of being in a place as scary as Brixton and amongst proper punks. I don't remember too much about it (so I might have been drugged though possibly not murdered), but coming back into the venue for the first time since then I was amazed at how familiar it was and the massive cavernous space and strange towers and decor around the stage took me right back.
I was less scared amongst Ben Folds fans and as great as it was to see the band live I found it touch to stand on the sloped floor for four hours. This time I didn't end up dangerously grappling with strangers at the front (I don't think the BFF fans are quite as much into the gobbing and pogoing that we liked back then), but stood a little distance away and tapped my feet and sung along to the ones that I knew the words to. To be honest I'd have really appreciated a seat.
Ben Folds is a little bit older than me I think, but he was still pretty sprightly and jumped up on his piano at one point. I am so unsprightly that when I got out of the venue on to the tube and a seat was finally available, I was stiff from standing for so long and could bearly bend to sit. And by the time I got home my feet felt like they had bed sores. It was worth it though. I don't want to go to more than one music gig every two years, but it's fun to do it occasionally. I should have done it more when I was young, but I didn't like the crowds or the noise and couldn't see the pleasure in it and as with so many things my oversensitive fear glands kept me away. And I wasn't going to fall for the Bleep and Booster trick again.
