Poor Old Tooty: The Aftermath.


Well, actually there hasn’t really been an aftermath – if you don’t include me giving up bananas as a precution. In fact, other than a poor taste of t-shirt, all appears well at Tooty Towers…

If they ever remake Star Trek again, they know who to call.

But wait, perhaps all is not as tickety-boo as it might appear. Look what happens when I raise the aforementioned t-shirt…

Oh-no, how can I go out in public in a piebald state?

Argh, they had to shave my manly chest for the ECG sensors. Now I’m a hirsute titty freak!

5 thoughts on “Poor Old Tooty: The Aftermath.”

    1. Thank you. Never did get to the bottom of it. Oddly, since the incident – and knowing that my heart isn’t suspect – I’m finding it easier on my daily keep-fit walks. It must be psychological, but I’m no longer running out of puff at the sight of an incline. Powerful thing – the mind. Even my one.

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