A nurse remarked to me recently, "Mr Surname has been particularly appreciate of his floater over the last few days." Eh?
For those of you not in the know, a floater is a hot meat pie floundering in a mire of mushy peas, strongly associated with winter and football. Mr Surname must have been ringing in the festive season in style.
But no - not that type of floater. Surely he wasn't referring to a leftover bit of poop that resolutely refuses to flush? Why would you be appreciative of that?
Or perhaps the floater he meant was the body of a drowned person, bobbing gently under the buoyancy of its internal gases. Something to appreciate, surely, if only because of a schadenfreudesque relief - "There but for the grace of God go I..."
Aaaah - I have it! He was referring to the perception of irregularities in the vitreous humor of his own eyeball. He spends his days staring at the sky marvelling at the drifting, dancing angels always just beyond his reach.
Again - no. The floater in question was a dose of oxazepam, an anxiolytic, available to be taken at any time as Mr Surname saw fit. That would certainly make a trip to the football much more bearable.