A fresh perspective on twinkly little Twilight bloodsuckers

‘Ever been to Whitby? Goth vampire central and I think some of them are the real thing,’ Susan Morrison told her doctor (Picture: James Hardisty)

I can confirm the standard of customer care in both is staggeringly high, the beds are more comfortable than expected and the tea is very good. I must, however, draw attention to the fact that the food at the Western is considerably better than the Royal. A brief recap. The nice doctors at the ERI had decided that my sudden interest in marathon toilet seating (45 minutes at one point! Going for gold for Scotland!) was down to some sort of “dysentery-like infection”. It would, they said, go away in a few days. Rest and Fluids. Not gin.

It didn’t and continued to rumble on. The Western General invited me to step up and have a chat. Various nice people came and looked at me, prodded bits, muttered to each other and wandered off to consult with other medical people. At one point a small telescope was used. You don’t need to know what happened, beyond the fact that the doctor in question had a peek and then made the sort of noise a car mechanic makes that seriously inflates the final bill. There was more clucking and consulting, which led me to believe that they didn’t actually know what it was.

What they did know, thanks to the little telescope, was that a lot of blood was sloshing about where it shouldn’t have been. And it was causing trouble. The doctor carefully explained to me, blood is actually an irritant in the bowel and a laxative. “Well,” said I astonished. “I didn’t know that, every day a school day.” “So,” I continued, now on a roll: “How come Dracula and his buddies aren’t flying about dropping industrial sized uncontrollable vampire diarrhoea all over the shop?”

“Because, Susan,” she said, carefully and slowly, “They don’t exist.”

“You say that”, I retorted, “Ever been to Whitby? Goth vampire central and I think some of them are the real thing. They’re always trying to avoid the sun. I shall never return unless I buy a particularly tough umbrella. Blood’s an irritant, eh? Totally explains why those net curtains behind Hammer Horror Dracula were always swirling about in the breeze.

“Tell you what, gives them twinkly little Twilight bloodsuckers a fresh perspective. How sexy can you really be when you’re constantly scoping out the nearest loo and hoping for soft toilet paper? No wonder they seem to hang about the woods all the time.”

The trouble with giving smart-alex answers when you have grey hair is that young whippersnappers think you’re on the early evening express to Doolally Junction. The young medics laughed – but I saw them check my oxygen levels again. Off they went and finally the answer came back. Not dysentery, but ischemic colitis. Bang went my new career as a historical disease re-enactor. I had planned to expand my repertoire to take in King’s Evil, Water Elf Disease and possibly even Dancing Madness, but no.

Despite the fancy-dan name, the treatment turned out to be just the same as before. Rest and fluid. Not gin. Couldn’t help but notice just how many times that was mentioned. Should clear up in a few days, said the consultant. Fingers crossed, looks like it has.