I have been the brunt of cruelty from a doctor a number of times but I will relate one that has always stayed with me since I was a child. I was approximately 8 years and it happened to be summer. Baseball was a true love and my brothers and friends played daily. In the summer, all we wore were cut off jeans and nothing else. I had stepped on a rusty nail and it became infected. Time for a Tetanus shot! This was a typical occurrence for us during the summer. There was only one doctor within a one hundred square mile area and his name was Doctor Brandenbury. He was a very unpleasant, elderly man that my brothers and I did not care for since he was just a mean, old bastard. So I am shuffled off to his office and of course after hearing what had a occurred and examining my foot agreed I needed the Tetanus shot. I make a very innocent request as he is about to give me the shot. Since I knew the shot would stiffen my arm and essentially cause pain I would take it in my left arm so my throwing arm would not be affected. I tried to request this from the doctor but he did not wish to hear anything from me. He said "I don't give a fuck what arm you get it in." He grabbed me roughly by the right arm and used the needle like a dart and just slammed it into my arm. I had never had a problem with shots before but that REALLY hurt. I started crying. He instructed my mother "To get me the Hell out of his office." Needless to say my mother never took any of us to see this old, miserable bastard again. She found another doctor that actually treated us like we were human. Question: How often had the narrator had such an injury occur? Options: A. it was the only time B. not enough information C. it was very typical occurrence in the summer time D. a few times === The correct answer is
C

Marnie Sleightholme was well chuffed when she got the chance to be carnival queen, and she couldn't give a shit if it was true what folk were saying about her only getting picked because she'd had her right arm ripped off. Ever since the accident, Deborah Bullock had been using twice as much make-up to disguise her rage. Marnie being picked as carnival queen had only made her pile it on even thicker. Deborah Bullock told anyone who would listen how it was a complete piss-take to give the job to a cripple. 'Imagine getting a wedding cake covered in frosty decorations and shit like that, but it's already got a big chunk bitten out of it. Well, that's exactly how it is.' Deborah Bullock had dreamed of being carnival queen since more or less the start of primary school. She used to tear their pictures out of the newspaper and dress up to look like them, and tell Marnie she never could because she was too fat and ugly even to pretend. It was Deborah Bullock's on-off boyfriend who'd been driving the car Marnie had been sitting in when it veered off the road and crashed into a tree halfway down Back South Lane. It was pointless trying to hide the truth. There was only one reason anybody went down Back South Lane at that time of night, and the flashing blue lights illuminated the exact location for the whole town to see. When Marnie came round in a hospital bed, the first face she saw was Deborah Bullock's. She felt an ache in her side and blinked her eyes. The room was bare and cold. There was an empty chair in the corner. Deborah Bullock slapped some cheap flowers down on the bed and leaned in. She smelled of talcum powder and nicotine. 'Do you want the good news or the bad news? The good news is you've finally lost some weight. The bad news is, they've chopped your right arm off. So you're still a fat bitch.' Question: What did Black South Lane portend? Options: A. a drag-racing venue. B. not enough information C. a makeout session. D. a certain accident site. === The correct answer is
C

As a day trip from Brussels (only a half hour train), I've found that either many people haven't heard of Ghent, preferring to explore the chocolate box streets of Bruges, or they adore Ghent so much that when a blogger (me) visits, they spam them via instastories with recollections of days spent there and memories made. True story. Disclaimer: I was a press guest of VisitFlanders in Ghent, but all planning, mischief and thoughts are all mine. We fell into the former camp on our trip to Brussels and explored Bruges, but genuinely regretted only being able to fit one city in, vowing to return one day. Luckily an invite to explore Ghent appeared in my email inbox, so I gleefully accepted, hopping on the Eurostar one sleepy morning, and spending a long weeked gambolling through the streets (under blues skies and then grey clouds.) As guests of the tourism board, we were given city passes which allowed us to hop on the local transport (trams & busses), pop in and out of the museums and climb aboard a canal cruise, exploring the city by water. GALAVANT THROUGH THE GRAVESTEEN We didn't galavant so much as gallop up through the castle, so intent we were on completing a challenge to the top, but strolled back down through exhibitions. The exhibits share the history of The quintessential 12th-century stone castle, which comes complete with moat, turrets and arrow slits. And the view from atop the towers? Well, it's ok I guess. HOP ONTO A CANAL CRUISE Sit back, relax, and let the world glide by. The 40-minute tour included in the city card takes in the city by canal, led by a knowedgable driver/guide and is a lovely way to get to know the city a little bit better. There are also other operators, a couple of whom offer picnics as you float through the medieval city. Question: Who can help you get to know the city of Ghent better with some offering picnics as you float through the city? Options: A. a knowledgeable driver or guide B. your children C. not enough information D. a teacher === The correct answer is
A