Well, the bike ride wasn't so bad, apart from it's bloody cold out today. On a scale from, being booted up the bum by a size nine, to getting thumped on the nose by an Essex night club bouncer, I'd have to go with the first. That is, if I don't count having the stitches being taken out by a doctor who I'm sure used to be anchor man on the Belgian tug-of-friggin' war team.
Didn't even have the front to give one of those 'this won't a bit hurt' smiles. Nah. Straight in. Snip, pull. I know. I should've known better. I should have had his balls in my hand first. There hasn't been a scream of pain come out of my mouth that loud since the cat got me with two sets of claws when I tried to steal his leftovers.
Worth it though to see the looks on the faces of the four pensioners sitting in the waiting room as I left his torture chamber.