The indoscopy

“Hmmm. Have you been doing a lot of exercise lately?”, enquired my GP with the mandatory note of feigned concern.

“A bit, I suppose. Well, extreme sports, mostly”

“Which ones?”

“Ah the usual. On-line shopping. Dieting. Having an *sarky quotation marks fingers* Only Child. Living in the North. Reading The Sunday Independent”

She winces at the last on the list. “Horan?”

“Sometimes. When I can be bothered. Hunt for the faux liberal middle-class concern. O’Hanlon for Shinner-induced apoplexy. And Lynch for the priceless wry pop at them all”

“That it?”

“And the Lidl brochure of course”

“Great isn’t it. Did you get–”

“The angle grinder?”


“Indeed. Couldn’t beat that price”

“Would you use it much yourself?”

“No. Never”

“Same. So, is that all…anyone else?”


An arched brow.

“OK, Sarah Carey. She gives me energy”

“Ah that explains it”

“It wouldn’t be every week, mind. Only when I’m feeling a bit lethargic, or too upbeat”

“Any Harris at all?”

We look at each other for a second before we burst out laughing.

“Actually, I’m a bit worried about the sarky quotation mark fingers, I can’t seem to control it. Can you give me anything?”

“Have you tried *sarky quotation mark fingers* mindfulness?”

10 thoughts on “The indoscopy

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