I've not been feeling myself recently, and it's nothing to do with any kind of improvement in my love life. So this afternoon it was off to the luxury, five star private hospital to have the jolly old sawbones look at what he persisted in referring to as 'a nasty patch' on the Eastcliff physog. Something to do with the ozone layer packing up in 1983, and a surfeit of Caribbean cruises.Well, they don't hang around in these private places. None of this: 'Liver packed up, has it? We might be able to squeeze you in next March.' Nope, it was straight off to theatre for the op.
Now I know Bev, my agent, has been on at me to have a bit of work done to improve my chances with the showbiz Suits, but I'm not sure this was quite what she had in mind. Unless she's put me up for Phantom of the Opera or the remake of Scarface, that is. Oh well, for those of you obsessed with discovering my real identity, it shouldn't be too hard to spot a bloke wandering around Ramsgate with a blinking great gash down his right cheek. Although, come to think of it...
