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"The Bells, the bells: I can't hear them."

I, for one, like cutting Quasimodo-like shapes to administer earwax remover in the bathroom.

 As high-status moments go, it's in the top ten (probably wedged between someone stepping on the back of your shoe while you're walking and having a twitchy eyelid) and is the only thing you can do to try and guide the magic fluid down your ear canal. It's like miming a header or trying to bend down as you step under a low archway and is perfect for making you look like a dick; it's certainly not recommended when you're 'with audience'.

 At least whether I managed to navigate the liquid into my right earhole is, frankly, by the by, as this evening I decided to pull rank and have booked an appointment at my local chiropractors - for they do ears too - tomorrow to get my head gunk flushed out. It won't be the first time I've subjected my nut to irrigation. It's a strange sensation but is ultimately satisfying when you come out the other side with crystal clear sound; it's akin to one of those old special effect idents you used to get at the cinema except it's only in your head; I'd highly recommend it.
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