Beyond Blood and Toenails, or The White Wail

The terrible toenail struck again. Ingrown again! Before I let it progress I set an appointment this morning to see a chiropodist this evening. There was no hurry. 7.15. I worked a little late and still had time to enjoy the bus ride.

There was pretentious me, reading Nietzsche and listening to 'Also Sprach Zarathustra', the glory of a new sun burning a halo around my head. Suddenly up the stairs come the Bonny and Clyde of druggies, he saying quite loudly,"I'll ride ya when we get home!" In a voice that levels mountains she told him to 'SHUT UP!' She told him to 'SHUT UP!' quite a lot, far more loudly than he said anything (though he could be heard at the back of the bus too). She said 'THERE ARE PEOPLE COMING HOME AFTER THEIR WORK. THEY DON'T WANT TO HEAR YOU!' Damn right, chucky! Ubermensch up the front was especially not wanting to hear YOU, but everyone still got an earful. About THAT TWENTY LAST BANK HOLIDAY, or how they PAY YOU WHEN YOU ATTEND, or just NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! Strauss kicked in on the organ, but it was no use. The ubermensch was settling into a syphilitic bout of deafness, then paralysis, and finally ranting death. As I got up to leave I cast a glance down the aisle and stood a moment transfixed. Four words from Conrad came to mind (and 'Apocalypse Now', probably more appropriately); 'The Horror! The Horror!' The being was attired in a green and white tent made from the material Captain Fantastic must use for his outfits. She/It lounged across the obviously otherwise deserted (except for the rider) back seat, looking like Ken Russell in drag, or Moby Dick on a bad hair day. It was truly a test of ubermenschen aesthetics. I realised how lucky I was to have only been exposed to its voice for most of the journey. What that 'rider' must be exposed to is something only Lovecraft could imagine. I threw my cross-eyed philosopher's stare to the ceiling, stroked my imaginary moustache and fell down the stairs. Oh, for the sight of a cart horse being flogged!

The chiropodist first removed a mighty shard of razor sharp nail from the side of my big toe. Without giving me time to think about the two needles of anaesthetic he then pumped into my foot, he told me he wouldn't feel right if he let me go without taking out the huge stiletto that lurked at the root of the nail. I lay back and thought of Ireland. I tell a lie; I thought of that bloody scalpel cutting through my bloody toe ('Eh, I'll just put this tourniquet on your toe to stop the blood squirting in my eye'). It was over in no time. Unfortunately he had a problem with his pc I had to spend an hour looking at. My own fault, I volunteered, but he was good, and I didn't actually solve the problem. I left the pc with spybot, but no updates, a thing beyond good and evil.