Do fit me in, doc, for ten minutes

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Seeing so many women out there with a bump, I’m of a mind to tell them to go forth and subtract. Right now there just seem to be more bumps at large. Is it seasonal? Fashionable? Is it something in the water?

Little wonder they’re taking up so much of the GP’s time. It’s increasingly difficult, I find, to grab the allotted ten-minute consultation. I well know what’s up, doc, you’re working according to the latest edition of the NHS code book.

I keep saying to people, some total strangers, that I love children. But I couldn’t eat a whole one.

It gets a giggle. Some, with no sense of humour, aren’t amused. You might say it doesn’t get a bellyful of laughs.

Pain in the grass

I’ve never cut it with women. Maybe the first date when as a chat-up line I’d mention the “dukes”, the Duke of Argylls, rhyming slang for piles. A too-much-information faux pas.

But, too late maybe, help is imminent for both sexes so afflicted.

Clinical trials in Brazil confirm that a cream based on swamp weed – a two-feet high plant with pink flowers – can be applied to the rear passage.

I’d give it a go but imagine the embarrassment if your best friend had to tell you you’ve got grass coming out of your trousers.

Okay for women. They can wear a grass skirt.

Top brass neck

Soar to bear? That slap-happy snap in a national paper was enough to turn one’s tum. Admiral Sir Trevor Soar sharing a joke with our wideboy playboy Prince Andrew at a Nato base in Portugal.

The Commander-in-Chief of the Fleet was laughing his flipping head off and what had three-chins Andy (the louche living does that) done to justify all those gold rings on his sleeve? What did you do in the war, daddy?

One does wish the pair, who’d been helicoptered there at our expense, could have let us serfs in on the joke before they repaired for a refreshment. The joke was on us, no doubt.