So anyway, the right ear.
He put a head torch on and peered down my ear. He couldn't see my ear drum, or any wax because it was too far down.
"Have you been digging things into your ear?" he demanded. With the light shining in my eyes, I felt like I was being interrogated, so I had to confess. Yes, I said. The odd q-tip. And maybe my fingernail.
"Well, I can see the scars," he said. "How long is it since you had your ears cleaned out?"
I confessed it had been twenty years.
He recoiled slightly, but recovered himself.
"Right, I'll go and put the boiler on," he said, and left the room.
I have to say, I quailed a bit at this point.