The Slobs are alleging ‘soft tissue damage’. I’m not surprised that this is the diagnosis of the doctor appointed by the lawyer pioneering their attempt to defraud my insurance company.
The Slobs, you may remember, are the charming couple who claimed I had seriously injured them both when I rolled into the back of them at 3mph in a traffic queue on Streatham High Road, leaving not so much as a scratch on their bumper.
I can only imagine what the medical examination to assess their claim was like.
‘Please, take a seat,’ a nauseous doctor must have said as one or other or possibly both of the Slobs put their clothes on and galumphed back out from behind the curtain. ‘Now, I’m going to say you’ve got soft tissue damage.’
‘’Ere! What you on about, you poncy swine!’ would yell Mrs Slob; ‘I ain’t lost a packet of Kleenex! I’m crippled, I am!’
‘Please, Mrs Slob, try to stay calm. I believe there is every possibility that you do have some kind of damage to the soft tissues, at, shall we say, molecular level. But the chances of finding it are slim, not least because you have a particularly vast amount of soft tissue to sift through. Mrs Slob, you must behave yourself or I will call security. But then again, the chances of the opposing party proving that we cannot find it are even slimmer. So, why don’t I just put down “soft tissue damage” and you and your interestingly perfumed husband toddle off pronto and take the baby you’ve left behind in the examination cubicle with you? No, Mrs Slob, I really must insist you take the child. We cannot organise adoption at this short notice.
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