Visiting the Palace, to bring news from my home state of Western Australia, my father remarked, "The old chap next door is getting a trifle deaf". "Hmm." I intoned, assuming the serious and thoughtful air of a seasoned diagnostician. "I expect it's presbycusis, judging by the aetiology - perhaps his LMO will refer him to Otolaryngology He'll need to go to Audiology, of course. The result could be NAD, but you know, the  Otorhinolaryngologist will be able to advise. Come to think of it, perhaps gerontology would be the referral of choice, rather than an ENT  you see..." Suddenly I got the feeling I was talking to myself.   

But he must have been thrilled by the neatly labelled rows of ring binders multiplying in my study bedroom. I certainly was. Starting with the slightly risqué "Adult Language" on the left of the shelf, they proceeded to Brainbox, CNS, CVA, DDK, ENT, and so on through the alphabet. At the other end was the section devoted to voice disorders. Because it fascinated me it grew faster than any other category. VD VD VD VD VD my folders read. 

Now, it must be explained that the said study bedroom was in the boarding house at the exclusive We'll Have no Vulgarity Here Girls' College where I was working my way through university as a live-in supervisor (or "Student Mistress").  "I'd be so very grateful if you did not share the more unseemly aspects of your course with the dear gels," said the senior mistress, passing by to perform the white glove test on my bookcase. "I always thought speech therapy was such a nice thing for a gel to do. But I see that even it has its baser side". I made a series of little labels that read "voice" to paste over the offending VDs.