isleone

“How old are you, Dr Fury?”

This is probably the most common question I am ever asked, more so even than “what are you doing in my house?” and “why are you trying to get that cat drunk?”

Normally I would tell people to ram it up their tubes and stop being so nosy, but one of the things my therapist keeps saying is that I should be more open to people. Another is “what are you doing in my house?”

OK. Although I am old enough to remember when my database was all just empty fields, I’m not sure when I was born. I don’t remember it, and I can’t ask my mother because she isn’t talking to me after I used her dialysis machine to make homebrew rum. What I do know has been pieced together mostly from newspaper reports, crime scene photographs and urban legends, and here is it.

Traditionally, stupid people say that the stork brings babies, and they said that in my case this was literally true as they used Stork to grease my mother’s chute, but this is of course just a silly myth, as in those days it would have been butter.

The butter was applied by Thanet’s top obstetrician, a man they called “Mr Obstetrics”, because his name was Kenneth Obstetrics. This was in the subterranean maternity ward of St Allah’s Hospital in Ramsgate in nineteen forty nine, or nearly ten to eight if you use the twelve hour clock.

Soon after I slithered out three shepherds arrived, with sheep and crooks (i.e. curved sticks, not jewel thieves), and when Mr Obstetrics asked them why they had come they said “lo, for it was written, a baby boy will be begat this night, born of a virgin’s womb and so on and so forth” and he said “virgin? Her?” and then they recognised my mum and said “oh”.

Then three kings arrived from far-off lands, bearing fabulous gifts.

“I bring you the gift of gold,” said Balthazar, “By which I mean Gold Blend, a delicious instant coffee with all the flavour of real coffee, although as you’re a baby you won’t be able to drink it until you’re older, but still, it’s the thought that counts.”

“I bring thee the gift of Frankenstein,” said Melchior, who was a bit more pretentious, “It’s a book about a monster in which surprisingly little happens, and in fact I wish I’d brought you something by Andy MacNab now.”

“This is not Buckingham Palace,” said Frederick IX of Denmark, “This is the worst state visit ever.”

Then evil Mayor Clive Herod of Ramsgate heard about it and ordered that all first-born sons be killed, but fortunately the council voted against it (7-3, one abstention).

After that some more things happened, then some more, and then it was today.

So you see, the answer is that I don’t know how old I am, which is why I am confident that I will qualify for both child and OAP discounts at East Kent World Of Ape Foetuses, the tasteless and unethical theme park that I am currently pitching to investors such as Disney, “Stone Cold” Steve Austin and Vernon Kay.

<!–0e6c001fc7bb4823b571a5f854ed43d5–>