We took our pool car on the trip to the middle east, and it took a right battering. Twice it died a duck and we had to spray the suspension with UB40. The clock only ran if we used Durex long-life batteries and all we could get on the car radio was John Lill on the horpsicard playing Mozart’s piano sonata No.5 - one of his key works - and the Paul Jones R&B blues programme. I was hoping to hear some accopella ....... it’s a type of singing without voices, you know.
Our ‘Z to Y’ street guide was useless, the colour coding was based on traffic lights; white, green, yellow and dark pink. We were running around like long lost sheep.
Due to the number of hijacked HGV vehicles parked across the roads we had to do a red robin around the area before we located the source of the black-market isms; it was a small non-GP fund-holding practice. Apparently it had links with a Welsh health authority ....... you know, the one in Wales....... where nobody wants to qualify the accounts of an authority that doesn’t exist. It was near a local accident and emergency hospital, because I could hear the blue lights flashing.
We went up to the practice door and rang the door bell. When the receptionist answered the door she said, as Quasimodo did, “You rang?”. I asked to speak to the Doctor or his counter-partner. She asked if I’d come for my GCE injection because, she explained, she was only a foot-care assistant with no hands-on experience. I told her that that didn’t rub salt with me and I wasn’t as green as I was carrot-looking. I let her know that she couldn’t ride buck-shod over me and that she was in danger of becoming too good for her own cheeky! Frankly, she was beginning to drive me round the pole.
The receptionist then gave us some pathetic story about the Doctor being out doing a paediatric children’s survey; even worse, she suggested that he was also doing a joint audit of toe and ankle injuries. However, after a bit of persuasion, she finally admitted that, after collecting his infertility benefit, he was going to the local betting shop to make an ante-natal bet.
Apparently, the Doctor provided a home-alone service by communicating to London on a week-to-day basis but apparently he would be free all day Thursday morning. Realising that today was going to be totally fruitile, that I was flogging my head against a brick wall, and that we could wait here until the sun came home, we returned to our hotel for the night.
