This week I was lucky enough to have not one, but two hospital appointments. Lucky old me, and before any rumours start, it was just regular eye clinic stuff, nothing sordid or interesting.
Except for one thing – a little wave of excitement in the otherwise flat pond of ophthalmalogical ordinariness. “How so? Do tell!” I hear you clamour. Well, it all started several weeks ago when my appointments came through, accompanied by a map of the hospital. My NHS notes obviously include an erroneous entry that suggests I have a PhD in Orienteering, so I sent said map on its way to a new life after recycling, when it might come back as something useful, and decided that I would make my way to the main hospital entrance and ask for assistance.
Arriving in good time, I found the reception desk and requested the help, which I fully expected to be in the form of a porter’s arm to hold onto, and depending on the budget, possibly a porter’s body to go with it.
Wadda-mistaka-to-maka! Not only did I get a whole porter, but he had his own battery-powered motorised vehicle. Me had a ride on the choo-choo! Again, again!! It was all I could manage not to cal out “Wheee” as we sped…ok, crawled past the peasants made to walk the long Victorian corridors. To add to the excitement, the driver tooted his horn as we approached every corner, shouting hilarious remarks like ‘I’ll get you next time’ to the pedestrians.
I tell you what, don’t let anyone tell you that the billions invested over recent years in our NHS haven’t been wisely spent.