Celebrating the mundane

Now I’m not gay or ‘owt but I went down the sexual health clinic in Woolwich a couple of weeks back for an HIV test, right. When I walked in, a lesbian social worker, not wanting to waste any time about it comes out and asks me if I’d had any gay sex lately.

Replying that regrettably I hadn’t, she then asks me if I’d had any sex actually and I kinda mumbled something incomprehensible about being in an on-off relationship where I think it’s on and she’s pretty convinced it’s off.

Next up she asks me if I’ve taken any hard drugs lately and I’ve gotta say I felt I was missing out, like a bit of a square when I said no again. Short of saying “Next” and bringing in someone more interesting, she couldn’t have sounded, more disappointed that she had before her in her surgery some sort of straight, non-sexual, teetotal loser.

The nurse who took my blood was gay too, but very nice (though perhaps not “conversion-nice” if you know what I mean) and he actually made me pass out by sticking his prick in me. In my arm that is. A needle. Sorry I couldn’t resist it. Cheap gay gag I should be ashamed of myself.

The results came back later that day and I personally was absolutely overjoyed when they told me.

I don’t have AIDS

I was so over the moon about this result that I went home singing a song and skipping all the way back to my student halls where I proclaimed with deep joy the fact that I, in fact did not have AIDS to my bemused housemate and my equally bewildered and concerned “girlfriend” who was pretty sure that perhaps there was something I should have mentioned before we started shaggin each other.

With the realisation that I didn’t have HIV I realised too that I was in great physical and my (erm…..?) mental health was pretty sound too. I also realised that I had two arms, 2 legs and 10 fingers and toes, and didn’t have the plague. The day just kept better and better and soon I was adding new verses to my song that started off like this.

I don’t have HIV
I don’t have HIV
I don’t have HIV
I don’t have HIV
I don’t have HIV

Realising that this needed a bit of work I now added more lines and it now went

I don’t have HIV
I don’t have HIV
I also don’t have the plague
Or yellow fever
But I’m not sure about those last two
Because I haven’t been tested
But at least
I don’t have HIV

Both little Ms. C’s, Arty C and Eatty C, looked on and sighed the sigh of people who had seen the descent of man unfold before them.

In this country we take things for granted. That we wake up alive is surely cause enough for celebration and, that we wake in good health should give us a daily cause for rejoicing. Perhaps it is familiarity with good health that makes us so blasé but who wants to wake up sick with HIV? At least I know for sure that, as I type, I don’t have HIV and that thought has just made me smile a broad U shape right across my face.

Stop for a second, check that your cock is still attached (men only obviously – or if you’re indulging in lesbian love at the same time then it’s an equally applicable sentiment. Or if you’re a he/she-male thing) or you still have a nose. If you’ve got one (or both) sing and whoop with joy for a minute and bask in the knowledge that you are alive.

It’s bloody great is living

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