Our protagonist, convinced that he has a “prune-bum” by a fortune teller in a toilet, decides to take cosmetic treatment and goes to his Eastern European GP for a prescription.

Harmon’s fortunes take a turn for the worse when he ends up in hospital, having injected his wrinkly buttocks with enough dioxin to kill a tank. There, as fate would have it, he meets a familiar depressive Australian pop star working as an orderly with a criminal bedside manner. Finally he undergoes an operation on his failed arse, the end result of which you won’t be able to foretell.