W1B-006 Medical student-1.txt
16B Newtown Rd. Antrim. 31st January.

Ma ch&/ere Roisin,

Sorry that this is going to arrive late. I intended to write last night, but got drunk instead. I 'm sure you 'll understand.

How's it going? It seems like only last Friday that I was talking to you in the Mandela. I hope the exams went well,  comme toujours

! Have you been taking swimming lessons recently…or making sandbags, umbrellas. I hear there's a good profit to be made in such goods in your part of the world. Ha! Ha!

Things here have been fairly quiet. The main reason for this is not a radical fitness drive, nor lack of money, but that I 'm living back home in happening, party-on-down Antrim. The reason for this in turn is that I 'm working with the nutters in the local madhouse. In particular, I 'm assigned to the 'really fucked up ward.' Here I have the pleasure of being locked in with convicts, psychos, druggies and some plain wierdos and discussing with them their philosophies in life, why God chose them to rule the world and their psychosexual history. I feel quite at home really.

It does have its lighter moments. I brought a chronic alcoholic into the interview room and asked him what his major complaint was. He replied that a former schoolmate was coming into the ward each night and cutting a bit of his penis off and that his penis was now this big (placing his thumb and finger a couple of centimetres apart), and what would he do it he chopped it off altogether. Just how to you answer that question or try to console the poor bastard. The worst thing was that his chronic drinking had damaged his brain, so that he couldn't form new memory and hence he kept on forgetting that he had told me this story, so he kept on repeating it, looking for a sensible answer each time. See what alcohol can do to you!

The next big event on the social calendar is the faculty ball on Fri 3rd (not the only big event that day!) As usual I 'm being accompanied by Mr. Guinness – he may be dear (dear at heart), but at least he doesn't require a ticket (£ 22). Guess who they put in charge of pouring the champagne at the reception. I probably won't remember the rest of the night, but I hope at least that I don't forget telling some medical student in the future that my penis is being chopped off!

Unfortunately my running is at a standstill, so to speak. I went down to Dublin to see the Irish team doctor with a slight stiffness in the right knee and he injected it with cortisone (a nasty steroid, but don't tell anyone.) By the time I got back to Belfast, the local anaesthetic was beginning to wear off. <> #> By the next morning I couldn't walk because of the pain. That's bloody doctors for you – don't trust any of them – especially if you know them! By the way, Eddie Condon was on TV last weekend, running in his first GB Senior international.

Everyone else here is fine. At least I think they are, since I haven't seen them for a couple of weeks (probably not since you have!)

I must go now to finish writing up my case history of a manic-depressive. So have a great (or should that be past tense) birthday and take care not to get into any mischief.

Loads of love, Kevin.

P.S. I just have realised that this is going to be even later than anticipated – your address is in Florentine.
