This was the big test of my balls. Would I remain blase about it or crumble into wanting my mummy, or worse - legging it. Turned out the worst part was all of the hanging around. I got there at 7.30 and didn't get into surgery until 1.45. Read the Guardian from cover to cover then started on the freebie mags. Great - fucking Hello and OK - all inconsequrntial stories about poeple I'd never heard of and wouldn't have cared about if I had. Both the Surgeons introduced themselves and explained what they would be doing, as did the anaethesietist. Fucking hanging about though. You would think that I would get more and more nervous - happily I just got pissed off.
Bit of blip when the (Asian) guy with the drugs thought he could smell booze on my breath. Normally that would go without saying, but a 6.30 start precluded it.
Came round with no memory of it and after a while in recovery went home. So far so much a piece of piss. I'm thinking - this is going to be easy.
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