Doctor Bristlin's Surgery

Don't be shy, e-mail Dr Bristlin now, and remember a problem shared is a problem halved.

If you've got a problem and no one else can help, ask the Old Ed's very own "Dr Derričre" Tim Bristlin and his assistant Nurse Ivana Humpalot.

Important Note: All of the characters mentioned in these problems are real Nuneaton Old Edwardian rugby players and any resemblance to actual persons, either living or dead, is fully intended and offence should be taken.

Won't You Ring My Bell?

Dear Doctor

I wonder if you can help?

Recently a life long hobby of mine has gone into overdrive and has left me with a problem.

I refer to the skilled and glorious art of bell ringing - too much of which over recent weeks has left me with a sore bell.

Now the problem is, as we all know, bells need to be rung regularly, especially on a sunday morning and very often there is an enormous ringing of bells just before and during a wedding.

To make things worse one can go to special classes where advanced bell ringing is taught, you can ring many bells all at once (including others), competitions are held and you are positively encouraged to travel the country to show other groups how well you can ring your own bell !!

Doctor please help, for it is wedding season and the more I practice the better I get

Yours
Alexander Graham-Bell

Doctor Derričre replies:

Well now...errr....ummmm....don't worry yourself young man, campanology is not a hobby to be embarrassed about. I was like you once, in the first flush of youth all I could think about was bell ringing and I was at it morning, noon and night, but as the years went by I discovered other distractions and didn't seem to have the same inclination for bell ringing that I once had.

Ah this takes me right back to my school days, happy, happy memories of bell ringing in the upper sixth. Of course it was a first years job to clean our bells and after evening prep they'd be queuing up to give our bells a good spit and polish. I can picture them now firmly grasping the wood and vigorously rubbing the bell. When they'd finished their exertions, we'd reward them with cigarettes for all there furious rubbing.

One last piece of advice, whilst bell ringing won't send you blind, it may leave you too tired to masturbate.

Nurse Humpalot replies:

Me being a simple sort of gal, I don't really know a lot about bell ringing, However, I do know a little about rings for bells, cock rings that is and if you let me fit one nice and tightly to you we could both hit the high notes.

How To Make A Maltese Cross

Dear Doctor

How many times have I had to turn to you for advice and guidance over the years, however I fear this time not even your words can offer me solace.

I have committed the ultimate sin that any loving and caring husband can; Adultery I hear you cry, perhaps forgot the birthday or anniversary, no much worse. Let me set the scene, First wedding anniversary, holiday booked to see the in-laws in Malta for a much deserved and expensive 2 week break in paradise.

Then whilst padding up for the annual NOERFC cricket match on Friday the phone sounded “where’s your passport” the bride exclaimed! Well after searching the house seven no eight times I had to concede it was lost, I can picture it now two week prior coming back from Ireland dipping under the railings at the air port, trousers ripped (causing much embarrassment ) passport must have tumbled from my pocket.
The holiday has had to be called off, all monies lost and an inconsolable wife into the bargain.

Well as I’m sure you can imagine the house is a stony place to be at the moment, the oven has never been so clean, ironing is my new pass time and cleaning the toilet is now second nature in an attempt to pacify the bride, but it all seems to be in vain.

Please help me!
Manny Dasser (name changed to protect the innocent)

Doctor Derričre replies:

Well err….. for once I am stuck for words, many times whilst gaining my qualifications at the New Mexican correspondence college for aspiring doctors did we jest when asked an obvious question.
" Has Judith Charmers got a passport?" Would be the reply; Well my friend it seems you have not.

My only advice is a long shot but its straight out of Hollywood itself:

Step one: advance all calendars in the house forward two weeks.
Step Two: Dirty all your cloths and put them in the utility room
Step Three; buy a bag of sand and sprinkle liberally in the bed , suitcase, all shoes and a few of her favourite pants.
Step Four: Step out the shower and exclaim that its great to be home but your not looking forward to going back to work, perhaps you could idly drop into the conversation about the possibility of finding work in Malta and would you consider a permanent move.

Hey presto the Bobby Eweing excuse. If that fails might I suggest the name of a good jeweler.

Nurse Humpalot replies:

In all my years as a nurse I'm hard pressed to recall an incident to match the out and out fuck-wittedness of your actions.

All you can do is look on the bright side, I'm sure your wife will find solace in the fact that it's been hotter here than in Malta.

And of course you can look forward to a lucrative career in the niche porn movie market when your wife finally cracks and cuts off your penis when you're asleep, assuming the surgeons can re-attach it of course.

You stupid, stupid boy.

Urine, Your Out

Dear Doctor

I have developed a very worrying condition, which manifested itself recently on a trip to the capital. Our evening’s entertainment, after a long day of frog-eating, was at a place full of adults dressed as schoolboys – and schoolgirls, mostly appropriate to my orientation, thankfully. I know this is a subject close to your heart, particularly since you phoned on the night to declare your own insane jealousy!

Trouble is – and I don’t know whether it’s down to the sight of 1500 schoolgirls or the 15 pints consumed – I was rather overwhelmed by the occasion, and found myself taking relief on the dancefloor, the only reason I wasn’t thrown out was the close-guarding proximity of my colleagues. So close in fact, they also got a good spraying too. I believe I’m falling victim to Golden Shower Syndrome – and it’s getting worse!

Yours Muddled of Hartshill

Doctor Derričre replies:

Err erm well… for once this is an easy one to advise on. Ahh the care free days of school, how we all long for simpler times when are greatest fear was forgetting our tuck shop money. Unfortunately it can't always be like that, and eventually we have to begin the difficult transition from boyhood to manhood. This right of passage began for me in the showers after a freezing P.E. session spent cross country running on the edges of Exmoor. As I and the other 4th formers stripped off and entered the communal showers we were met by Peterson from the Lower 6th who revealed the age old school method of how to get warm again, namely of micturating over each other. For me this began a live long love affair with all things Golden and Shower. So I can only say to you carry on my good fellow you have many years of pleasure and male bonding ahead of you.

Just one small piece of advice, with your responsible job in the field of education, it may be wise to abstain from these practices during working hours. Believe it or not, some people aren't as free spirited or broadminded as us.

Nurse Humpalot replies:

I've heard from reliable sources that this craze is sweeping the playing staff like wild fire, led by two plucky young new recruits from a coalmining background, who regularly reaffirm their bonds of friendship by relieving themselves over each other in the post match shower. Perhaps it's common place in the clubs they came from, but I have to say I find it a little odd that no women are involved. Each to his own I guess, I'll just have to amuse myself by watching that video called Splash that's been doing the rounds (no it's not the one starring Daryl Hannah as a mermaid).

Cain & Abel

Dear Doctor 

I’ve been plagued with confusing biblical dreams of late. Please help me decipher their meaning; I’m at my wits end from lack of sleep and feel permanently on edge, what’s wrong with me?

Here’s an example of one of my dream sequences:

And so it came to pass that the multitude were gathered in the gymnasium.

And Abel didst sayeth to the Coach “Look Coach I can do behind the back passes”, but Abel didst drop the ball.

And the Coach sayeth “If thou doest well, shalt thou not be accepted? and if thou doest not well, sin lieth at the door. And unto thee shall be his desire, and thou shalt rule over him”. And he also didst sayeth “Do twenty pressups now Abel, for dropping the ball”.

And Cain was very wroth, and his countenance fell.

And Cain didst sayeth to Abel “Stop pissing about in training”.

And Abel didst reply “Verily Cain, I’m not the only one mucking about”.

And Cain didst sayeth “Look, this is your last chance”, for he was full of wrath and wouldst smite Abel if he didn’t buck his ideas up.

And Abel didst sayeth “Why art thou wroth? and why is thy countenance fallen?”, and then Abel didst laugh at Cain.

And Cain rose up against Abel his brother and didst drop the nut on him and sayeth “Don’t f***ing laugh at me you tosser”.

And there was terrible carnage and the blood of the brothers didst spilleth on to the very earth.

Doctor Derričre replies:

Err erm well… this is a difficult one to advise on, so I’ll be brief:

The first rule of fightclub is don’t talk about fightclub. The second rule of fightclub is you must only fight with your brother.  So it is written.

Nurse Humpalot replies:

I’m drawn to that film starring Oliver Reed again, you know the one where two blokes strip naked and have a good old wrestle. There’s something about the physical challenge isn’t there. Excitement and danger all rolled in to one.

You can fight over me if you like, and then you can do whatever else you like over me afterwards as well. That should relieve some of your stress. Sweat isn’t the only thing that tastes salty is it boys?

Temporary Blindness

Dear Doctor

Please help me. About every six seconds I become blind. It only lasts for a fraction of a second, but it is very scary. I don't know if I can go on. What should I do?

Yours Fearful, of the Front Row

Doctor Derričre replies:

Yes, of course; I am quite familiar with this sickness. It strikes the afflicted with lightning-flash episodes of blackness every few seconds. As a matter of fact, millions of people around the world are affected by it, many without even realizing it.  Even the President of the United States has it (though I doubt he's aware of it, or much of anything else for that matter).

Sadly, there is no known cure for this peculiar phenomenon. The heated debate over whether it is hereditary or acquired still rages on. I should know because I--yes, yours truly--have had this condition ever since I was a child. After years of torturing myself over it and desperately asking God "Why me? Why me???" I've learned to lean on my loved ones, to take new days one at a time, and to find small, meaningful things in life that make it worth living despite this terrible, debilitating disease.

Nurse Humpalot replies:

To learn more about your condition from a trustworthy source, look up "blinking" in the dictionary. It should be right in between "howstupidareyou" and "youmustbeapropforward".

Doctor Derričre's Christmas Address

'Tis the season to be jolly.

Or so some would have one's readers think. (And one has it from an unimpeachable source that the number of one's readers is so many that were each a single small Seville orange, Wales could be supplied with marmalade for an entire century, and the resultant pile of pips could be fashioned, with some ingenuity and no little amount of glue, into an astonishing scale likeness of the Taj Mahal.) One had a distressing encounter just recently that one wishes to share--let it be a cautionary tale for the wary.

One's readers know well that one rarely indulges in that activity known as 'shopping.' When one requires the season's new clothing, one's tailors arrive from London's most exclusive suit-makers, Littlefoot and Widebum. When one requires reading matter, one sends the servants to the stationers.

When one is in need of a personal anniversary or Christmas gift for the Lady Felicia, such as nose hair clippers or a hot pad for her lower regions, one sends one's secretary to the shops. Naturally, one has to give the feeble-minded lad specific instructions lest he return with something as dire as an 'eight track tape' by a hard-core rock-and-roll band such as ABBA.

But one was in a bit of a sticky situation, quite literally. One had inadvertently spilled a bit of honey upon the clothing of a poor girl who happened to be doing one a bit of a favour when the accident occurred. Naturally one's gallantry rose to the fore. One immediately offered to replace the damaged garment in question after the girl mentioned that her larger older brother's best friend was in the employ of one of the United Kingdom's most widely-circulated tabloid newspapers.

So into the shops one went, carrying the garment. One met with unsuccess. When one showed it to the manageress at Marks and Spencer, she claimed they didn't carry anything tarty. A blatant lie, as one had seen quite a quantity of fruit pies on display in the comestibles department. Finally one ended up at a quite patriotically named establishment: Victoria's Secret. If our good Queen kept secrets such as those, one can only say that her lips were tighter than a squiffy spendthrift tightrope walker in tights and a straight-jacket.

One displayed the damaged goods to the shop mistress. "My, you do like 'em busty, don't you?" she said to one.

With dignity one drew oneself up for a scathing retort. And then one saw it. There upon a display of peignoirs decorated with fringe and caribou feathers, sat a miniature tree decorated with glass balls. "Is that . . . a Christmas tree one spies?"

"Why yes!" said that hard-bitten matron of mercantile. "Our customers often like to get their Christmas shopping done early."

"In AUGUST?" one demanded in thundering tones. Naturally, one had more to say, but store security was summoned and there was a bit of a row before one was escorted from the building.

But one asks one's readers. Christmas? In August? 'Tis an outrage to the very sensibilities! Christmas is a time of winter and snow, of holly and ivy,  of frost and snowmen, of reindeers and grandma! It is not a time of heat and sand, of humidity and soaring temperatures, of one's psychiatrist leaving town for the month and not responding to his answering service the way he promised when one has the recurring dream of running from a large snake in one's nursery and finding one's elderly Uncle Ned sitting in one's bathtub.

Readers, one begs. Put your collective feet down. Frequent not these shops that attempt to foist upon us yearly an earlier and earlier Christmas buying season! Boycott them entirely!

Naturally one will ne'er again darken the doors of that particular establishment, one can safely say! Nor will one need to, as one had fortunately filled out a postal card requesting a seasonal catalogue, before the incident in question. One always appreciates new--ahem--reading material.

And yet for another week one remains,

Kind Regards,

Doctor Derričre

Street Fighting Man

Dear Doctor

My team mates know me as a mild mannered professional: Someone who quietly gets on with things and doesn’t make too much noise or fuss.

This has led to a certain amount of mickey taking, people have claimed that I am too quiet, boring even, some think that the gymnasium is my only friend, just because I sometimes train alone. There are those who say I have no personality at all, others just find me depressing. Actually it’s usually one person and he’s from one of the villages. So what does he know?

I freely admit I’m not a loud mouth or a braggart, unlike some of my team mates. What’s wrong with the quieter pursuits in life? Just because I like long walks on the beach, poetry and pictures of unicorns doesn’t make me quiet and boring. And just because Seasons In The Sun is my favourite song, well that doesn’t mean I am depressing, I think the chorus is quite up tempo if you listen with a trained ear.

I just find it hard to show the other, hidden side of myself. This is the rage driven tormented side of me (a bit like the incredible hulk) whereby most evenings I don my steel toe-capped boots and go down town in search of a “ruck” with anyone who fancies a beating. On the way home I will probably smash a bus shelter window for good measure and maybe spray a bit of graffiti on a wall.

I let my veil of secrecy slip momentarily the other week by having a brief skirmish on the rugby pitch, I hope no one suspects anything.

I may also react with mock surprise when they talk of “spocking” and “the love that dare not speak it’s name” in the changing room after training, but secretly I lap it all up and just wish I had the courage to experiment myself.

So please tell me doctor, having recently found a new girlfriend, how do I tell her my inner most fantasy: you know, the one where she rogers me senseless with a strap-on.

Yours Shy of Higham

Doctor Derričre replies:

Ah, well they say it’s the quiet ones you need to watch out for. I think you should go for the subtle approach.

Begin with a quiet meal for two at home, then with the lights dimmed and some fine wines and Belgian chocolates, you can woo her with talk of purity and of love and innocence. Explain to her that nowadays men and women are equals and that what she experiences you should experience, and then my shy friend, then bring out the chicken grease and invite her to do you good and proper with the slippery pole of your depravity.

Nurse replies;

It sounds like you’re addicted to violence but won’t admit it. That’s a pity, I like a tough guy. I also like addictive personalities. Now you come to mention it I also like giving and receiving in equal measure.

Why not drop round to my place; I could put on “Slap My Bitch Up” by the Prodigy to get you in the mood. You could smack me about a bit and then you could take a rest whilst I do all the work with my faithful plastic friend “Mr Stiffy”.

Pies = Good : Gym = Bad

It has been noted on numerous occasions that players within the first XV have problems with their weight. There has been talk of a corporate membership at Cannons health club in Nuneaton. I feel that in my experience, some people are built for speed e.g. David 'The Egg' Evans and need to keep on top of that with regular work outs at the Gym, but there are also people like myself and Tim "The Rock" Bristlin and Paul "If I keep my Mouth Shut I will stay in the Firsts" Sharp, who often shy away from those sort of places, due to the fact that their weight is often brought up in conversation at the bar. It can hurt deeply towards that individual. I feel if we want to attract players to the club it must be stamped out. With that in mind I feel that Corporate membership at Cannons may be a waste of the clubs money. I feel that the money would be better spent on a hot plate behind the bar offering a selection of pies and sausage rolls, there also may be room for a more varied selection of pork scratchings. I hope that Dr Bristlin could look at this because I know that this topic is close to his heart.

Kind Regards ....... Dan ' The Slug ' Masser

Doctor Derričre replies:

Er, mmm, well  ....... Slug you are so far out of the loop it is unreal, for years the club have recognised the value of players like Tim "The Rock" Bristlin and pulled out all the stops to reign in what should have been a most promising carrier via lucrative sponsorship deals and a constant supply of girls paid massive amounts to indulge in bizarre sex acts.

Early on in "The Rocks" career it was obvious to all that he offered so much promise and that if efforts weren't put in place he would soon leave the club for better pastures, the club has struggled for the last 10 years now under the strain of this cost; more and more of the bar profits were used over the years and his appetite led to the need for the club to start the fund raiser we now call the 10's tournament but secretly at committee meetings it was always refereed to under the codename " Behemoth".

Now the decision to remove all funding for project "Behemoth" has been taken, the signs are there for all to see, the club has more capital spare to fund kit and training tops with other developments coming soon.  "The Rock" was starting to get fitter until his unfortunate injury and some say he has lost weight !

As for your comment on the kitchen and hot plate don't write this off, there are more and more quality players around the club now more than ever and the club needs to retain them, there's talk of free beer after games in December ( cleverly disguised as a first team night out ) the quality of the food has improved beyond reason (not just coincidence and down to the hard work of Lynn), there is a better choice of savoury snack behind the bar and the bottles are filled with rapid weight gain formula.

Watch your waists.

Nurse Humpalot replies:

Hey Slug, how about you and me get together for some chubby loving! I'm tired of having to mess around with 90 pound scrawny weaklings. I want some beefcake!

And for all of you skinny readers out there, I say you need to get in shape fast!  Don't you want to look your best?!? Aren't you tired of the other guys getting all the chicks?!? Are you tired of weighing  less than 18 stone?!? Don't have time for the usual slow, steady gorging process to work?!? Then bulk up quick, with Dr Bristlin's Weight Gain 10,000. With over 10,000 grams of saturated fat per serving, it's patented formula is designed to give you results fast (I think the slug has been using this for some time).

Follow your dreams, you can reach your goals. "The Rock" is living proof. Beefcake! Beefcake!

SOMETHING INSIDE SO STRONG!

Dear Doctor.

For some years I seem to have been the brunt of many a jest and banter from my fellow compatriots on the field of honour we call Weddington road, because I spend my days toiling in the noble profession of the mason and my manifestation is shall we say somewhat broader than most it seems acceptable for individuals to call me names and be derogatory about my intellect.

Oft times before I have mused over this predicament in the study accompanied by only my well worn copy of Milton with the soft notes of Bach dancing gently across the room, a warmed Remy-Martin in my hand and a fine Havana to please the nose.

Always during these hushed enclaves I come to the same if somewhat unsatisfactory outcome that people do not accept the physically strong into the world of academia.

However I digress from the real problem that afflicts me that being, I'm having a real problem hiding my massive stash of hard-core Scandinavian scat and animal porn from the missus.

No matter where I try to hide it she always manages to sniff it out and goes ballistic every time, please can you advise of a good hiding place.

Cheers Youth.

Doctor Derričre replies:

Err well um… Your problem is not as unusual as you might think, back at boarding school it was the devils own job to hide your tuck from “Tank” Mulligan, I remember one night he came into the dorm via the back entrance and put me across his knee and spanked me until I told him how to get hold of my sour balls and candy stick, every night after that when he got the urge to stuff his fat belly he came looking for me.

Nurse Humpalot replies: 

Scat porn and animals eh! You do sound like a dirty little boy.

Might I suggest that you arrange for your partner to go away for the weekend, then as a “surprise” redecorate the whole house.

Little does she now that you will have used “Fresco” by Graham and Brown and that all the walls will have been covered with porn first then over the top you have pasted that easy peel wallpaper.

Hey presto! Porn in every room, she goes shopping you just strip the paper off, toss off then put the paper back up. Could not be easier.

HE TO SHE.... AMAZING TRANSFORMATIONS!

Dear Doctor.

I always read your column and have up until recently always considered your letters as made up works of fiction from an over active imagination.

That was until last week.......

The 1st XV have this season been working upon team moral a great deal and each week we have to bring an item or face the fine, this was all well and good when it was photos and silly hats but last week we had to wear an item of ladies underwear.

My problem really is two fold, firstly I really enjoyed the feeling of slipping into ladies pants and wrongly after a recent tiff with my partner there were none readily to hand in the house so I had to go to a charity shop and all they had where great big Matronly ones; which I'm ashamed to say I really enjoyed and messed in before getting to the bar.

Secondly whilst all the guys where getting changed I couldn't keep my eyes of a certain players body, who has shall we say got a build up of fatty tissue in places normally associated with women. I now find my fantasies filled with visions of him and can not help but keep mentioning his womanly charms, my choice of video has moved on from straight to "chicks with dicks" and I spend more and more time around the house dressed in old 1930's frocks and heavy make up. 

None of the above really is the main cause for this letter the question I wanted to ask is where can I obtain pre war dresses and shoes for the larger footed lady.

Yours Winifred of Warton 

Doctor Derričre replies:

Er well yes, first of all Winifred there's nothing wrong in wearing woman's clothes. After all readers, if you're anything like me whenever you return to the parental home you like to dress up in your mother's underwear and walk around the house trying to seduce your father. Now where's the harm in that?

Also, its not unnatural to have wanton desires for another man, I remember when I was a Eton we never had a matron as most dorms did we had "Old Roberts", Dickie as we called him would try his best to act as a mother figure and many times when we stole out of our rooms for a midnight feast did we see him in the upper sixth rooms dressed in a frock with one of the prefects bent over this knee given them a damn hard spanking.

Finding clothes to fit can be a problem, but I hear the internet can provide a buyer with almost anything he desires these days. Things have moved on, when I was a child my mother always told me Harrods sold every thing from a Bentley down to an arctic Penguin!

Nurse Humpalot replies: 

You're no use to me Winifred, the only help I can provide is for you to give me your address and I'll send you my copy of "Deliverance" and that arty film Oliver Reed made where he wrestles naked.

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