(prompt: 'nothing' June 11, 2021)

George paused, polishing the glass as he took a searching look at the face full of misery across the bar. It was Baz, and something was definitely wrong. Hell... everyone knows what a soak he is, but it's dead unusual for him to have a couple of whiskies and toss them down, just like that!

"Got another problem, me old chum?"

Baz nodded morosely, the corners of his mouth drooping so low they nearly met the five o'clock shadow of emerging grey whiskers around his jawbone.

"Want to talk about it?" George had some time up his sleeve just now. The after-work-have-a-couple rush was close, but hadn't yet begun.

Baz nodded again,with an even more hang-dog expression than before. IF that was possible.

"Took the afternoon off," he said, and his voice weakened noticeably. "Felt right crook, I tell you," and he sighed so hard he blew some of the froth off the beer he was about to attack. "Went to the Library to see if I could establish what dis-uhrr-temper... no, that's not it — desistance? Nope. Aarrgh... you know what I mean."

"Disease?" George asked, and suddenly all came clear. Baz. Library. Dis-ease! Hmm... Now why on earth should 'hypochondria' spring to mind? Out loud, George answered himself, "I think I know exactly what you mean."

How well he remembered the last episode, not so long ago when Baz was 100% sure he had Typhoid Fever and came into the bar wearing a mask, apologising to all that he must have had it for months without knowing, and how they should watch themselves carefully for symptoms. Gargling salt water could help, as would a long rest with cooled tea bags above the eyebrows and a glass of beer alongside, to stem the fever. He also recommended a hot-water bag to the belly for the stomach cramps. "Ohh, and don't forget — prunes for the constipation MAY lessen the agony... with luck, before it even begins!" Baz insisted. These measures should enable avoiding the worst of the fearful, devastating scourge. Glancing stealthily each way over his shoulders, he stage-whispered, "Don't tell the poor buggers, George, but I honestly believe it's possible NOTHING will save them if the BIG T has them in her clutches!"

George waited with bated breath for today's verdict. It didn't take long.

After a great gulp (or three) of his pint of beer, Baz continued, "I started with some A's and saw straight away I had certainly suffered ACE (Adverse Childhood Experiences) in my youth; while AIDS was NOT a possibility. NOT for this homo-sap-whatever! Acne had happened too, but that wasn't today's problem." He stopped to feel his forehead and around his nose and chin to be sure, then shaking his head with a loud "Naah... don't be stupid, man!"

Another great shloop, and he pushed his glass across the bar for another refill before continuing in the most mournful tone George had heard since last time. "It's Cholera, George! A galloping case, with severe compilations. I think that means one thing on top of another, and they are probably talking about that there inferia stuff (or diff-in-fear-you are?). I was prob'ly born with it."

To George's great amusement, Baz next felt for his heart, and when he couldn't feel it (unsurprisingly, as his hand was on the wrong side), declared himself dead.

"Told you," he said. "Knew the Grim Reaper was beckoning. Just didn't know he was a bar fly as well..."

Author's Note: IF Baz should snatch back Life (against all odds), it could be Joe's turn to come back into the picture and get HIS diagnosis from Dr. Baz Wannabe. Hmm!  Must be a future prompt that will lead to more, surely?

Photo by Jonathan Rados on Unsplash

Woman-handling and embroidery by Christine Larsen on Scrivener.