Willy Trolove: Staying healthy and safe in a world out to get you

COMMENT


Health and Safety Boy woke before dawn from a low-risk dream. "Good morning my lovely," he said to the gender non-specific entity sharing his bed.

His co-participant in the informal non-judgmental relationship mumbled and went back to sleep.

For a rash moment he considered kissing the entity in a non-arousing manner, but thought better of it. At this time of the morning the risk of host non-specific bacterial exchange was high.

He switched on the bedside lamp and scanned the bedroom. There seemed to be no overnight deterioration in its structural integrity so he assumed that it was safe to get out of bed.

This was a gamble. Any number of catastrophic events could have occurred since he fell asleep but historical inspection data and known housing deterioration trends suggested this was unlikely. He doubted that his neighbours were operating a terrorist cell, and his home-built seismographic alarm had not blurted any nocturnal warnings and his domestic hazard register was spankingly up to date.

He eased himself out from between the lead-lined sheets. It was exercise time - some low-impact, joint-limbering routines recommended by three out of four registered contortionists and several cycles of intense tendon elongation.

After his exercise he noted down his heart rate on a piece of paper with edges that had been blunted the night before by a disciplined nail-file.

He slalomed to the bathroom between the dust particles and turned on the shower, testing its temperature with an elbow. Before entering, he plugged his mouth with a snorkel, his nose with a clothes peg, and each of his remaining orifices with appropriately sized fruits - all certified as pesticide-free.

Health and Safety boy showered. He did not shower as you or I might shower. He concentrated on his breathing and holding the fruits in place. He was conscious, at all times, of the whereabouts of the soap. He did not overestimate the non-slipperiness of the non-slip floor. When he finished, he stepped from the shower, extracted the snorkel, clothes peg and fruits, and dried himself by natural evaporation.

Two hours later he returned to the bedroom, passing his companion in the hallway at a safe navigable distance. From a wardrobe with neatly bevelled edges, he took one of his Kevlar suits, a flameproof shirt, and a canvas tie that could double as a rescue rope in times of need.

Dressed and clean, he entered the kitchen, the most dangerous room in any given house. Health and Safety Boy had banned utensils, appliances and food. He had replaced them all with pills. And forms.

He spent the next half-hour taking the pills and filling out the forms. Vitamins, minerals, supplements. Antihistamines, antioxidants, antidepressants. Hormones, prophylactics, bromides. Stimulants, tranquilisers, laxatives. Who needs food, was his motto, when you can survive on safety.

He grabbed his briefcase, which was in fact a suitcase. It was packed with the standard personal protective equipment of a mid-range office worker: a light meter to monitor the declining luminescence of his PC monitor, overalls for topping up the photocopier toner bottle, and a metronome to prompt him to blink at intervals that suited the task at hand.

It also contained a self-inflating lifeboat and a locator beacon in case he was caught in an expected bout of global warming.

He drove to work cocooned by airbags with the bell on the speedometer set at 43 km/h. The stereo played a selection of soothing bio-rhythms designed to anaesthetise the parts of his brain in charge of road rage and lust for pedestrians.

He closed his eyes and parked like a bat, edging into his parking space by listening to the rising and lowering timbres screeched by the car's proximity warning device.

In the lift he mentally prepared himself for the risks he faced in the day ahead. Focused and determined, he strode into the office, greeted his fellow employees as equals and inquired as to their general health and welfare before sitting down at his ergonomically adjusted desk.

And then, after a few minutes and for no apparent reason, he stood up, took off all his clothes and ran around the office. Screaming.