So, tell me, where do I have to move to pick up a classier type of ailment, something exotic with more than one accusatory syllable?
I woke up three weeks ago with my right knee swollen to the size of the Greek national debt and MFW (My first Wife of 40 odd years) took one look before snorting: “It’s gout. It’s from booze.”
Now see here, Doctor Ooze, I’ve had gout before and it appears briefly in my left toe caused by my classy consumption of rich traditional French cuisine like poutine on a stick and has nothing to do with booze.
“Yup, it’s gout,” said the doctor when I presented myself to a local clinic two days later Continue reading