River Wissey Lovell Fuller

What Does the Doctor Think - Janaury

February 2016


Am I a Metrosexual? This all started when I mislaid my hairbrush yesterday morning. Management gave me the brush 30 years ago because she could not get on with it. It is one of those with a wooden pole core and bristles sticking out sideways – you sort of curl it through your hair when using a hair dryer. I needed to dry my hair and, nowadays, as scalp is becoming more visible, I like to give the hair a twist while drying it to give it some “body”. In the room by the hairdryer was a plastic brush of similar design; I put the hair dryer on and twisted the brush in my hair, exactly as I have done for the past 30 years using my old wooden brush. BAM! Within seconds, the brush was stuck. Entwined in the hair, it was absolutely impossible to remove. With visions of having to cut off all the hair on the top of my head (would it ever grow again?) to remove the brush, I sought out Head Office who had a good laugh, took a couple of photographs (available for a price) and then removed the brush from my hair ever so slowly. This set me thinking. Blokes never seem to discuss with each other how they dry their hair and I wonder whether I am the only one who uses a hair dryer and tries to increase the volume a bit. Perhaps the others all use a rough towel and leave it at that. Over the past few years, I have heard the word Metrosexual used about men and I wondered if this term could be applied to me. Off to the world wide cobweb for a definition: The word was coined in 1994 from the words metropolitan and sexual and it describes a man (especially one living in an urban, post-industrial, capitalist culture) who is especially meticulous about his grooming and appearance, typically spending a significant amount of time and money shopping as part of this. The neologistic term is popularly thought to describe heterosexual men who adopt fashions and lifestyles stereotypically associated with homosexual men. The typical metrosexual is a young man with money to spend, living in or near a metropolis – because that's where all the best shops, clubs, gyms and hairdressers are. He might be officially gay, straight or bisexual but this is completely immaterial because he has taken himself as his own love object and pleasure as his sexual preference. Sorry I asked! There is obviously a very different world away from South West Norfolk. So, am I a metrosexual? Well, I am certainly not young; although we all live in a post-industrialist capitalist culture, I don't live in or near a metropolis. Although I wet shave daily and dress smartly for work, I do not use any grooming products on my face and my aftershave must be 15 years old by now. I hate shopping and I dislike spending money on myself. I have not been to a hairdresser for 30 years (Deannie does a great job). What is a Gym? Enough – Without further ado I can confidently state that I am not a metrosexual for all the above reasons. No need to look at the rest of the points raised in the definition! An old man lived alone. He wanted to dig his potato garden, but it was very hard work. His only son, Jesse, who used to help him, was in prison. The old man wrote a letter to his son and described his predicament. "Dear Jesse, I am feeling pretty bad because it looks like I won't be able to plant my potato garden this year; I'm just getting too old to be digging up a garden plot. If you were here, all my troubles would be over. I know you would dig the plot for me. Love Dad. " A few days later he received a letter from his son. "Dear Dad, please don't dig up that garden. That's where I buried the BODIES. Love Jesse." At 4 am the next morning, the police showed up and dug up the entire area without finding any bodies. They apologized to the old man and left. The same day the old man received another letter from his son. 
"Dear Dad, go ahead and plant the potatoes now. It's the best I could do under the circumstances. Love Jesse." A lonely widow, aged 70, decided that it was time to get married again. She put an ad in the local paper that read: HUSBAND WANTED: MUST BE IN MY AGE GROUP (70s), MUST NOT BEAT ME, MUST NOT RUN AROUND ON ME, MUST STILL BE GOOD IN BED!!!!! ALL APPLICANTS PLEASE APPLY IN PERSON. On the second day, she heard the doorbell. Much to her surprise (and dismay), she opened the door to see a grey-haired gentleman sitting in a wheelchair. He had no arms or legs. The old woman said, 'You're not really asking me to consider you, are you? Just look at you...you have no legs! The old man smiled, 'Therefore, I cannot run around on you!' She snorted. 'You don't have any arms either!' Again, the old man smiled, 'Therefore, I can never beat you!' She raised an eyebrow and asked intently, 'Are you still good in bed???' The old man leaned back, beamed a big smile and said, ' I rang the doorbell didn't I?' After writing the beginning of this article, I decided to go try a Gymnasium. They were very proud of a new machine which I used a lot. However, it made me feel quite sick but it does everything – Mars bars, Kit Kats, Snickers, Crisps – the lot! Best wishes to you all Ian Nisbet

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