Yes, I'd done oiling for weeks beforehand. Weeks and weeks.
So...he came back into the room with a little bath thing for me to hold under my ear, and a towel to put over my shoulder.
To be honest, I was starting to have visions of James Herriot up to his elbow in a cow, so it was a great relief that the chap didn't have his sleeve rolled up.
He did, however, have a large bottle of water with a trigger and a nozzle.
He shoved the nozzle down my ear and started to pump. And pump. And pump. And pump. Warm water hit something I can only describe as an aural g-spot - you know that itch that you're trying to reach when you shove your little finger down your earhole? He hit it. Effortlessly.
After a few seconds I was fully expecting water to start leaking out of my nose, but it didn't. He just kept on pumping. He was a big fellow, and he wasn't holding back.
"That's coming out a funny colour," he remarked, and went off to empty the bath thing, then came back and started again with the pumping.
The bath filled again, he emptied it again, then had to go back to the boiler to refill his bottle with warm water...