I'm reading the paper when I see an ad for "Cut Price Cosmetic Surgery: It's A Snip!"

I'll have some of that, I think.

The next thing I know, I'm on an operating table having a twenty-five-pound nose job. "All done," a voice says.

I get up, look in the mirror and see my nose has been reduced to less than half its original size, but the reduction is in length, not width. My nostrils have moved so far up my face, they're touching my eyes. I start shouting at them to put my nose back the way it was.

They grab hold of my nostrils with a pair of pliers and start pulling.

The next time I look in the mirror, my nostrils are hanging below my chin, flapping loosely. They look like a pair of elephant's ears.

I shout some more. They tell me not to be so fussy; what did I expect for twenty-five quid?

I leave the office with my nostrils sewn up into a kind of accordion pleat which I can raise or lower at will.

SOURCE: The Tiger Garden: A Book of Writers' Dreams by Nicholas Royle, p.32-3

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