Doris wants sprogs! Late out of the gate, but who am I to argue? Feck says I, there goes my life of well planned P&Q. So, bosh-bosh, nothing doing. Bosh again, still no result. Your fault says I, bowlarks says she....we're going to the doctor. So, off we go to the IVF clinic. Typical Chelsea "doctor", more interested in lunch than doctoring. She started quoting success statistics....big mistake given my day job. I interrogated her on the distribution of the data set and she glazed over and began gibbering. Me telling her she was talking horse-kok didn't go down well...........nor with Doris come to that. Anyway, point of the post is to share my experience with "That Test". To be honest, I was quite looking forward to it. Chance for a cheeky morning shuffle after eyeballing the MILFs in the waiting room........lovely. So, there I am, endorphins pumping after doing the necessary and I get my knob stuck in the specimen jar. Wouldn't come out for love nor money. So, being ex-Army, I figure out a cunnng plan. With trousers around my ankles, I reached for the only man-on-man mag in the room, figuring that the sight of 'em at it would make the old fella shrink and so escape the jar. Plan is going swimmingly, I'm thrashing away, making sure the "Banker Juice" stays in the jar........when..........in walks the nurse to ask me if I'm finished. She looked at the "reading matter", shrugged, and said......."don't worry, I've seen it all before". What could I do............ Am I the only one to suffer this ignominy?