Tonsillectomy Scars

I haven't posted anything in a while since my searing exposé of Super Mario Galaxy set the internet on fire, so here for no particular reason is a short anecdote from my rather dull life.

When I was a kid, I had to get my tonsils out, so that invovled going into hospital for a bit. It turned out to be a bit longer than expected, because presumably vomiting up a load of blood and ending up attached to a drip isn't standard procedure after a tonsillectomy.

Anyway, I don't know if it was because it was close to Christmas and the nurses felt sorry for us kids, but it seemed like we were always having parties and being taken on trips around the hospital and stuff.

One particular excursion involved a visit to the hospital radio 'station', even though I don't think any of us actually listened to it. Shortly after arriving, after greeting the foul denizens that lurked within, and without any warning, I was asked what song I would like to be played by the DJ.

Being about 7 and not really knowing the names of any bands, I struggled desperately to think of something - anything - vaguely half-decent to suggest. The more tried to think, the more rubbish came to mind. Eventually - after what was probably only about ten seconds to be honest, but feeling like I was under some kind of deadly time limit - I blurted out, 'FIVE STAR!'.

Now, if you're not familiar with Five Star and their oeuvre, it may help you to know that it's possible that at some point somebody may have referred to them as 'The British Jackson Five', and yes, that is actually as shit as it sounds.

Being 7-years-old did not however assuage my embarrassment as the DJ announced my name on air and dedicated The Slightest Touch to me. They could have at least played System Addict. What's worse is that the kid who came after me chose The Final Countdown, which, despite being a slice of pure Eurocheese, was a song that I actually quite liked at the time.

To be fair, the only way the situation could have been improved for me was if the guy after had chosen something even worse, which possibly could only have been Agadoo or The Birdie Song.

And the moral of this story? Trust no-one my friend, particularly if they ask you to choose some music when you're wearing your pyjamas.