TUESDAY, JUNE 28th, 2005, 13:38.

A Muslim woman is threading a futuristic-looking Q-Tip on a reconnaissance mission into my urethra. I say Q-Tip – its anything but cute, capped as it is with something far less sympathetic than cotton. Have you ever pushed the ‘lead’ out of a decrepit pencil? Imagine transplanting that graphite, flat-end-first into your dick in pursuance of the prototype of ‘The Penisil™’, and you’re close to approximating the sensation. With the results expected to take a week I’m asked to abstain from using my ‘penisil’ for any exploratory missions of its own, and given antibiotics (no, not penisillin), a little white tub of Azithromycin that makes for a distinctly pharmaceutical-sounding pants-maraca as I hobble out of there.

Due to possible side effects (Vampirism, presumably) I’m warned to stay out of direct sunlight. This won’t be a problem I assure them. ‘Since you ask: Yes, I’m going on Holiday, flying-out in a couple of days in fact, but, get this: I’m going to Stockholm!’

Oh, how we chuckled…

(Don’t worry, here’s…) THE REVIEW

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