Dirty Magazines?

I returned to the hospital this morning for a three-month check-up on the problem of the blood in my urine. As I walked in to see the registrar he spied my latest copy of The Word magazine that I had been reading in the waiting room. ‘Glad to see you’re not reading any dirty magazines,’ he jested. It was then I told him my profession – deep embarrassment on the part of him and the nurse, but I roared with laughter, promised to use the incident in a sermon and said I’d blog it.

And by the way, although there are still microscopic traces of blood, there is nothing sinister and I’ve been discharged.

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