Holding A Tune

This morning, I undertook the next step in my cardio rehab programme, enrolling on a local leisure centre’s circuits class. A session filled with mucho perspiration, intense focus of programme objectives and the realisation that wearing your undies on the outside of your tracks bottoms doesn’t necessarily impart you with superhuman powers. The latter a faux pas caused by my disorientated state while dressing post reveille.

Talking of superheroes, despite my recent heart-attack my wife Karen still refers to me a Spiderman. A pseudonym which initially boosted my flagging confidence post-cardio attack. Or at least it did until I found out the nickname related to the fact I can’t get out of the bath unaided; not a consequence of her bearing the notion I possessed extraordinary physical wherewithal.

I writing this segment of this monologue in a Leeds General Infirmary (LGI) waiting room. My LGI lingering a consequence of an out-patient appointment with my cardiologist. Yours truly playing the part of the patient patient as opposed to the patient carer – My usual role while medical establishment in situ.

Wife Karen is sitting next to me, on occasion attempting to read the words of whimsy which flow from my fertile neurological pastures via my dextrous digits. Creative pastures I left fallow for far too long, but which in the last few years have produced a highly fruitful harvest of 1530+ essays.

I doubt very much areas of the cranium get utilised in the same way as farmers use crop rotation to enhance a field’s fertility. On the very slim off-chance it does, though, the excessive longevity of fallowness experienced by my neurological corridors has resulted in an epiphany harvest worthy of song ‘We Plough The Fields And Scatter’ receiving an airing.


Anyhow, back to the waiting room!……. Karen’s nosiness at my penmanship is being interspersed with people watching; along with ‘treating’ me to whispered renditions from a bunch of songs playing out on Heat Radio.

By her own admission, Karen’s soprano interpretations of these contemporary laments aren’t the most tuneful. In fact, it appears commencement of her musical massacring coincided with patients turning off their hearing aids en masse. An ear drum protection strategy that’s wreaking havoc for medical staff attempting to attract the disenchanted waiting room populous.

I don’t think it’d be unfair to suggest my spouse is a soprano who’s murdered more songs than fictional TV ‘family’ of mobsters The Sopranos did people. To be honest, though, perhaps I’m being overly unkind about Karen’s warbling; after all in the past she’s proved on many occasions she can hold tunes……. (Proof of which below).


Apologies for that dreadful gag. If you’ve stayed with this narrative following that crime against humour, I promise never again to cross the line which during writing/editing ordinarily screams at me “No, Gary!!…. Just no!”

Despite misgivings about what I knew to be an evidently awful gag, for some godforsaken reason I misguidedly deeming the quip worthy of an airing. For that I can only apologise, seeking some sort of spiritual redemption from punishment by listening my wife sing an off key medley of songs from the musical Cats.

At this juncture of the text, I’ve had my consultation with the cardiologist and recently returned back to my humble east Leeds abode. If I’m honest, it was a meeting that left me with more questions than answers; the doctor requiring further tests/examinations prior to gelding the golden goose.

Incidentally, don’t bother googling the adage ‘gelding the golden goose’. One of the main considerations being that you can’t geld a goose!….. Another being I just made up the saying a few minutes back….. I suppose ‘spaying the golden goose’ may work as an adage. Perhaps used as a metaphor for an act of cutting off the source of someone’s income (ie golden egg).

Actually, as I’ve started rabbiting on about geese sterilisation techniques and related adages I’m going to bring this literary piece to it’s conclusion. These geese related ramblings not only banal, but also completely unrelated to the narrative topic!!

“WTF, Gary!!!….. Come on, sort yourself out lad!!”

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