At Least There's One Mother Who's Follow Up Questions.

https://www.dailymail.co.uk/tvshowbiz/article-12401719/Kim-Kardashian-provides-update-BROKEN-shoulder-enjoys-relaxing-day-lake-kids-commission.html

But don't judge her too harshly. She's an actual (retired) member of the Medical Profession.

As I'm sure every member of the medical profession well knows.

The moment you expose yourself as a member of the medical profession. Then everyone in that social situation will be lining up. With a long line of aches, pains, maladies and ailments.

Which they, immediately, expect you to fix. Even if it's got absolutely nothing to with your speciality.

Frankly, it's a bit rude.

I mean. I'm quite good at killing people.

No-one ever, casually, asks me to do that at parties.

It actually takes me back to that 2013 wedding of the, essentially, Regimental Association of the London Air Ambulance.

As, nowhere near, an actual member of the medical profession. I found myself automatically excluded from most of the conversations.

As the guy with the big, shiny splint on their finger. I looked exactly like the sort of muppet with the obvious medical problem. Who might want to talk to you about it.

Thus, automatically, excluding me from all conversations.

So, on reflection. I would've liked to have given an opening toast;

"Yes, I know! It's a broken bone. If I leave it there, resting, in that big, shiny, split it will take care of itself.'

"Apparently. The reasons how I came to find myself in this big, shiny, splint are not the sort of things we're, legally, allowed to discuss in polite company."

"So I want to talk about it less than you do. #Drink!"

However. Despite me, apparently, inheriting her Auto-Immune Condition. She's still not given me a hint of what to Google.

So I feel perfectly comfortable sharing the next part of this anecdote;

If you've even been to that type of terrible, Protestant, wedding. Then you will have found yourself being, orderly, lined up by the, frankly, overpaid waitstaff. To presented with your glass of cheap Champagne. Then seated, in line, with the strictly agreed seating plan.

On this occasion it found myself standing next to what became my, slightly, Muslimy Sister-in-Law.

Forcing polite conversation she asked;

 "When will this be over! When can we go home?!"

To which I responded;

 "Probably around the time one of my mothers is drunk."

Then with perfect,unplanned clarity. The voice boomed out;

 "IT TURNS OUT HE WAS IN THE IRA!! "

To which I responded;

 "About now then."