Red-faced and just a little queasy (From Bournemouth Echo)

Red-faced and just a little queasy

8:00am Monday 8th February 2010

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THERE are few more disconcerting sights in life than a doctor pulling on a pair of rubber gloves, especially when you are the only other person in the room.

“That’s a finely-honed and muscular body you have there Mr Butterworth,” said the doctor, taking a step back to admire my chiselled frame.

Well, that what I thought he said, although the true meaning may have been lost in the volley of impressive coughs he requested I perform.

At the same time, he pressed his hand firmly against a point slightly north-east of my groin, an action that would not concern a young athlete but one which could initiate a whole world of trouble for those of us over the age of 50.

I won’t go into any more detail, simply because I have always believed that the personal problems of any individual should remain precisely that.

Personal.

Uncluttered or infected by exterior influences.

Entirely private.

Which brings me neatly to the new series of Channel 4’s Embarrassing Bodies, a programme intricately woven around my own working life to cause me as much distress as possible.

How else could you explain why every time I am working late and sit down in front of the TV with my dinner, there is a programme that my wife wants to watch and my stomach doesn't.

Aired at 9 pm – in my mind six hours too early – its central premise of highlighting the kind of ailments and diseases we should be aware of and having treated is a very worthy and noble one.

But you try eating a sausage casserole while some bloke with a todger like a boomerang is having the thing operated on.

Or enjoying a pleasant dessert while the camera pans in on a woman with the most hideous toes on earth or one with truly monumental flatulence.

Two points here.

Firstly, why on earth would any normal human being want to expose their manhood to an audience of several million people, at least one of whom was trying vainly to cover his eyes with a knife and fork?

And what possesses a woman who has suffered with rotting feet for years to choose national television exposure of the most graphic kind ahead of a quiet private session with her own GP?

At what point did: “How would you like a good-looking young man prodding your post-op penis for Britain’s viewing public to savour?” become a really good alternative to privacy and dignity?

Secondly, how can you take a programme seriously when the doctor looks like he was thrown out of The Chippendales for being too good-looking and fit?

Granted, as we get older, our doctors are looking younger.

And when that doctor looks young enough to have arrived at the surgery on a skateboard rather than a family saloon, it’s a reaffirmation that you are entering your autumn years.

Indeed, on a recent visit to my own surgery to have a golf club removed from my bottom (it’s a long story, but I won’t book a game on our wedding anniversary again), I walked in and asked the youngster in the surgery to go and fetch his Dad.

I can only hope that this week’s show concentrates rather more on dull sporting injuries like my own for the sake of those of us with a weak stomach...

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