Of course, for me, a health crisis is me thinking that I should have signed up to a local doctor. Every time this happens, the possibility gets seriously considered and then not acted upon, until the next time I have some unspecified malfunction and realise I still don't have a local GP.
This will involve me phoning by old GP and desperately trying to remember my old postcode from 5 years ago when asked for my address. I just hope they don't have a ruthlessly efficient admin system that long ago clocked the "not known as this address" returns to sender and deleted me from the database.
The mole is on the back of my neck, so I've been reduced to taking pictures of it. It looks angry and sore, like a mole that's just lost at Monopoly using real money and been informed that the guy being the Banker was cheating and has run off with its life savings. However, it being on the back of my neck, I haven't looked at it very often, so for all I know it always looks pissed off. It can't be much fun being stuck on my neck. Even a bent game of Monopoly would be a happy diversion.
UPDATE
It all ended up making a weird kind of sense. I never made it to the GPs, handily, but the mole saga didn't just go away. Well, actually that's exactly what happened.
It turns out (I was going to write "transpires," but then I remembered this is supposed to be a fun blog, not a policy paper) that the reason the mole was so upset was that I'd slathered freeze gel on it in an attempt to soothe a stiff neck. The mole, clearly preferring tropical climates, had gone into a massive sulk and started playing up. Eventually I got fed up of its angry surface rubbing against my t-shirt and stuck a plaster over it. And that, dear reader, is the last I ever saw of Maurice the Mole.
By the time I removed the plaster a couple of days later that what had previously protruded was now nothing more than a brown circle on my skin, like one of the squashed dogs in A Fish Call Wanda. A few days beyond that, he'd gone, with only the slightest speck of brown to show he had ever existed. Admittedly I was in Geneva at the time, so I can't really blame him for running off.
Now, I have no idea of the science behind a disappearing mole. I'd been told - many years ago by my Mum, I think - that moles could be "frozen off," but had no idea of what that actually entailed. I always imagined something being ladled out of a pot that smoked like dry ice before being carefully applied. However, I can now state - anecdotally - that smearing a blue gel that smells of eucalyptus will have the same effect.
I'm not recommending it though. There's something so disconcerting about a part of your body squishing flat and disappearing, even if it's a mole. I shall be careful with my remaining subterranean mammals, just in case one day I need them to dig me out of prison. Or Geneva.
