Scotland’s Jesus: The Only Officially Non-racist Comedian (24 page)

The Australians have warned people about eating meat over here – that surprised me. I thought the only things Aussies objected to were full-length trousers and taking a train ride without doing chin-ups on the baggage rail.

Lamb, pork and chicken dishes have now been implicated in the horsemeat scandal. Is it just me who feels sorry for those who actually wanted to eat horse? There can’t be any of it left. I’d like to see a DNA test done on a haggis. That thing is essentially Noah’s Ark in a bladder.

Restaurants run by famous chefs were slammed by health inspectors, who found evidence of mice in Marco Pierre White’s, undercooked meat in Raymond Blanc’s and out-of-date food in Jamie Oliver’s – but I think it can only be a good thing that they’re trying to get more British cuisine on their menus. Last week I was in a restaurant and spotted the waiters surreptitiously chasing a mouse and then stamping on it. I complained to the manger and said that I’d call the Food Standards Agency unless the entire restaurant was disinfected from top to bottom. He assured me it would be, was very apologetic and gave me the meal for free. Well, I say free. I had to buy the mouse from the pet shop.

A man died after eating twenty-eight raw eggs in a row. His mate bet him he couldn’t eat thirty. That’s egg on his face. And in his lungs and in both chambers of his heart. I’d like to see him being cremated in an open casket just to watch the fluffy soufflé rise from his mouth as the heat increased.

A study has revealed that food from many high-street chains contains worrying levels of salt. Is this such bad news? I know too much salt is bad for blood pressure but it has kept me consistently free of black ice. We’re full of salt up here. The fact is, however, that I’d rather die of a heart attack or a stroke than be brought down by a gang of slugs. Research has shown that junk food can make young men infertile. After a drive past my local Burger King I’m guessing this is what’s called a good-news story. Does it really damage their sperm? Or is it just harder to pull when your burps smell of gherkins and cheap mince?

Burger King launched Britain’s most fattening burger. The Smoked Bacon and Cheddar Double Angus contains 966 calories, twice as many as a Big Mac. It’s their version of the Happy Meal, as the stroke it can induce often leaves the corners of the mouth permanently upturned. Its principal nutritional content is apparently in the sesame seeds on the outside of the bun, ironically only included for grip. Health experts claim it’s doubly dangerous, as the torrent of meaty burps it causes will also discourage mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. Of course, it’s garnished with the usual bedraggled bits of shredded lettuce – which in this case has to be the equivalent of deferentially lifting your hat before committing a serious sexual assault.

McDonald’s claim their new Fruitizz drink is a healthy option, despite containing twelve teaspoons of sugar. They did stress it should form part of a lifestyle that includes physical activity, such as walking to your dialysis appointments. Many organisations are calling for a tax on sugary drinks to tackle obesity. Kids need to have soft drinks, though – otherwise they’ll be drinking their vodka neat. Putting the price up is an admission that Brits are too fucking stupid to stop doing something, even if it’s killing them – if guns weren’t so pricey these people would be cleaning their teeth with a revolver.

Teenager Zoe Cross was left in agony in hospital after an addiction to Coca-Cola led her to drink eighteen pints of it every day. Interestingly, when she was interviewed for a job at Subway she answered the question ‘Where do you see yourself in five years time?’ with ‘In a hospital on a drip with diabetes and spinal damage.’ Zoe’s now keen to raise awareness of her problem with other people who are fucking idiots. She’s got severe kidney damage – luckily though, Gazza’s stepped forward as a possible donor. Zoe was rushed to hospital and put on a drip by doctors – unfortunately it was full of 7 Up. It’s going to be difficult to take fizzy drinks away from people. If they have to they’ll just fart in an apple juice.

Fifty-four-stone Susanne Eman from Arizona has married a chef in her bid to become the world’s fattest person. It’s a great record if you can get it, as it also comes with the one for having the world’s most unwipeable arse. I hope their marriage lasts. With a woman that size it would be very easy to start seeing someone else behind her back. There were rumours an ex-boyfriend was still on the scene – but they’ve checked all the folds and found nothing. I wish them both well, although they must remember that being that big will seriously reduce their chances of having children. Let’s face it, he’s only got a cat in hell’s chance of finding her fanny.

But this isn’t just an American issue. Doctors have warned that half the UK population will be obese by 2030. It’s great to hear that so many people will have slimmed down by then. Britain is leading Europe in smoking, obesity and depression. Smoking, obesity and depression – that’s what most Scots put in the hobbies section of a dating website. The good news is that there’s an easy way to tackle this. Keep eating and soon you won’t be able to reach your trouser pockets to get your fags. That should cheer you up.

There was the story of Rob Gillett – who’s 35st 10lb – a rare example of someone whose waist measurement is greater than his height. Rob’s nicknamed ‘Doughnut’, as in the phrase ‘Doughnut eat any more or you’ll die.’ Also, he’s always totally covered in sugar and can usually be found lying on the pavement outside Greggs. He’s tried everything to remedy his condition, but no matter what he does he just can’t seem to put on any height. He needs to take a good long look at himself in a really, really big mirror.

More men than ever are asking for moob operations. ‘Moob operations’ sounds like it would make a great Sade song. It’s weird, because after all these years of men saying if they had breasts they’d never go out, it’s turned out to be true. But not for the reasons they thought.

Research suggests that sitting for long periods increases the risk of heart disease, diabetes and death. So keep that happy thought in mind the next time you have to listen to a taxi driver talking about immigration.

Then again, too much exercise can be bad, too. Andrew Marr revealed his recent stroke was down to a rowing-machine work-out. Please take it easy on those things. I just lie back and drift, my hand trailing dreamily on the gym floor. By speaking out about the dangers of intensive exercise, Marr has helped a lot of people. People who were about to start exercising and were looking for an excuse not to.

Marr’s recovery was a good news story for the NHS at a time when patients are being left on trolleys for up to twenty-four hours because of spending cuts. This is causing major problems in hospitals, as junior doctors no longer have anywhere to sleep. A survey revealed that public confidence in the NHS is at an all-time low. Not here in Scotland. It’s been rising ever since they fitted teats to those alcohol hand-gel dispensers. It’s not a concern for me as I go private. I’m comfortable in the knowledge that if my doctor underperforms, the newsagent will take his card straight out of the window. It’s led to calls for more respect for patients. Quite right. My nan recently spent two hours on a trolley in A&E. Then another three on the floor when the nurse decided to return it to Tesco so she could get the pound back.

A new government plan calls for all foreigners arriving in Britain to pay hundreds of pounds up front to cover the cost of any healthcare they might receive. Typical bloody government, sponging off our foreigners. A record number of foreigners are getting free NHS treatment. It’s because you need relatively few documents to sign up with a GP. Then again, I’ve never asked mine for any of his documents, something that occurred to me during my prostate exam when I noticed the latex gloves were still on his desk. I confess I was a little suspicious when he took the run-up. Still, I’ve got his watch now.

The government’s launched a GP-recruitment drive. It’s not easy to become one as there’s a gruelling written exam. And if, when you’re done, any of it’s legible, you can forget it. Recruiting extra qualified medical staff surprisingly often leads to worse patient outcomes. But only in the parts of the Third World we lure them from, so no matter.

The government wants new measures to reduce NHS sick days. I’d suggest clearing the hospitals of all those people with diseases – that can’t help. Figures show that NHS staff have an average of fourteen sick days a year, three times the national average and, more crucially, infinity times as many as their microbiological foes.

Health Secretary Jeremy Hunt believes in homoeopathy. The joke’s on him. If he believed in Batman he’d now be Justice Secretary. It seems strange that he’s getting a hard time for believing in homoeopathy when the Education Secretary believes in God. I’m looking forward to Hunt running the NHS – at least we can be sure every waiting room is going to have Sky. He always looks like he’s just come off a fifteen-hour shift selling vacuum-cleaner attachments on Bid TV. I’ve never understood reshuffles. Cameron changing which cabinet ministers are going to give you bad news is like asking for a different postman to bring you the results of your AIDS test.

Complaints about doctors have jumped in the past year. Most relate to poor communication skills. I say, cut them some slack. If I’d my own prescription pad I’d be unable to string a sentence together, too.

NHS surgeons made 230 major bungles last year. Mistakes included sewing up incisions with foreign objects in. That happened with my appendectomy. When the doctor put his stethoscope to my stomach in the post-op examination it turned out he was just checking his voicemail.

Surgeons put my nan’s artificial hip in back to front. On the plus side, now no one in the care home can touch her at Twister. It’s a great game for the elderly as it removes the stigma of having to spend the day crouched over a plastic sheet. Artificial metal hips have been linked to a host of health problems but they did mean that my nan was flexible enough for her care home to store her in a filing-cabinet drawer when her direct debit ran out.

The government plans to introduce annual Ofsted-style inspections for care homes. This should be a huge improvement, as residents will be assured of proper treatment for at least one day a year. The public will be able to compare care homes in league tables, with any that repeatedly fail checks being relegated into the prison system. It’s sad the way we offload our elderly now. When I was a kid my granddad lived with us and every Sunday my dad would take us all out for a drive in the country. It helped keep my granddad’s mind sharp; right up till 92 he could find his way home again, though only because his colostomy bag had sprung a leak. Even now if I shut my eyes I can see him receding in the mirror. Or using his hooked stick to crawl up the boot like T-1000.

Care-home residents might be getting personal barcodes with details of the drugs they’re on. It follows an increase in the number of residents being given the wrong medication and waking up before it’s time to put them to bed. I’m not sure about barcoding them, though. Those things never read properly when they’re all wrinkled. We don’t want care workers who fail to get a beep holding them up and shouting, ‘Trace! Trace!! How much valium for this one?’

The world’s oldest man died aged 116. How do you get to still be alive at 116? Well, step one is to do something that makes God really hate you.
Guinness World Records
named Tao Porchon-Lynch as the oldest yoga teacher in the world. She’s ninety-four. She said, ‘I love yoga. It brightens my day and makes everybody smile.’ What she’s failed to grasp is that she’s upside down with her head between her knees. That’s not a smile on her daughter’s face, it’s a frown. She wants to convert her mother’s room into a conservatory but she just won’t die.

An eighty-year-old ex-RAF officer is to become the oldest person in Britain to have a sex change. It means before he goes to sleep at night he can put his willy in a glass beside his bed. I don’t know why they don’t wait a year or two more and let it drop off on its own. He’s already changed his name by deed poll. Which is, coincidentally, a Scottish medical term for a penis after a sex change – a ‘deed poll’. In 2009 the NHS in England conducted 154 sex-change operations. You’re probably wondering what happens to all the penises that are cut off. They were all put together in a mould, compressed and used to make Louis Walsh’s model in Madame Tussauds.

This Morning
was hoaxed by Dan Richards, a guest who claimed to run a new sperm-donor website called Fame-Daddy that offered celebrity-obsessed women the chance to have their babies fathered by a star. They had some ex-footballer sperm on offer, apparently gathered off the side of Imogen Thomas’s face. Having a Premier League footballer as a surrogate makes it a very realistic situation as the mothers will be single mums and the child will never see their father.

Richards said that prices started at £15,000, which seems steep when you can get the same result by turning up at the Chelsea FC Christmas party in a miniskirt. At sperm-donor clinics they usually have magazines to help men get in the mood, but as this one claimed to appeal to footballers they’d have to get six of his mates in the room and the sound of a girl’s tears piped in.

It’s a great idea, really, because women get to pick the qualities they’d like their children to inherit. For example, you might pick sperm from a TV presenter if you wanted your child to be quite good at reading an autocue but have crushingly low self-esteem. Even though it turned out to be a scam, Russ Abbot was quick to say that for five hundred quid he’d come round and quickly knock one out through your letterbox. In case you get them mixed up, Ant’s is always the test tube on the left and Dec’s the one on the right. Richards also claimed all the sperm is tested for venereal disease. To ensure it does come from a real celebrity.

A Chinese hospital has introduced a special machine to collect sperm ‘automatically’. I suppose sticking your penis into something lifeless and mechanical will give us all an insight into what it’s like to be Amanda Holden’s husband. I can’t help thinking that one day this will be used in evidence as to ‘why all humans must be disintegrated’ at the Intergalactic Court of Robot Law. It sounds like an amazing technological advancement, but let’s be honest – a robot you stick your dick in is just Henry the Hoover without the face painted on.