GUM

Today I found out what the GUM clinic is. Not a Soviet era department store which was more like a more complicated Argos with less of a sense of humour (and now privatised and a tourist attraction), but a place at Torbay Hospital (Outpatients, turn right past the cafe, follow the yellow line to the end past the eye clinic, *whistles nonchalantly). Apparently, you can legally give a false name at these places (but if you do, you have to remember it in case you have to go back).
I have never slept around in my whole life: I married the woman I lost my virginity to; lived with my next partner for 10 years; (then a short interlude after she buggered off, where I did once, but couldn't get it up, so it doesn't count); and have lived very happily for eight years with the ever lovely M, who freely admitted her cheating husband had given her a dose of the clap and to her, of course, no blame is attached.
Usually, it has been OK, coming and going quickly with the help of the ointment. This time, it just won't go away. Hence the visit. In the interests of good taste, I wont describe the symptoms.
Having already had to show the young doctor at the GP surgery (I couldnt find a video of Graham Parker's "Lady Doctor" on youtube, so here's Pouring It All Out which is sort of appropriate), the second time at the hospital was awaited with eager anticipation.
Firstly, I got dreadfully lost (mainly because I had gone in at the wrong entrance: no yellow line to follow), but I still arrived in the right area before time. The sign said that, had I been 15 minutes late, they may have refused to see me. No mention of what happens when THEY are 50 minutes late and I refuse to see THEM. Eventually, when the vast throng of sniffing humanity had been and gone, I was called (first name only). The nice doctor asked me some reasonably embarrassing questions which I answered with all the innocence and aplomb I could manage. Next, it was next door, jacket off, "drop your trousers please" (I expect it is easier standing up), and after a lot of squeezing and swabbing and banter between the doctor and the nurse (both female), and pulling (I had to help with that), I was allowed to cover my modesty. And then I had to give a urine sample (there must be a better way: the little jar fills up so quickly and then it goes everywhere), and a further bout of questions. Then the blood test (including for Syphilis, of which there isn't a chance, but better safe than sorry), by a nurse who wont give blood because she is too squeamish (incipient sadism, I reckon).
And back next week for more medical fun. Seems likely it isnt Herpes but may be Thrush or a "fungal infection" (yuk, whatever that is).
Get on with your food now.