I'm at it again. It's like a bloody drug this
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Has anybody been to an NHS A&E recently? I had to go to one last week when I hurt my ankle. What a day!
The health service - so much better under New Labour than it was ten years ago when they were first elected. I don’t think so somehow.
There's this old bloke sitting there and I ask him does he agree with that statement?
“I don’t know son. I come in ten years ago and they ain’t seen me yet” he says.
Now don’t get me wrong. I’m not a Tory. True...I may be a convicted and reformed paedophile on the sex offenders list and all that; that much I’ll admit to - but voting Tory? I draw the line somewhere. I don’t want hounded out of my neighbourhood.
So anyway I’m sitting there looking at that screen thing and between insurance companies touting for my accident claims business on a no-win-no-fee basis, it’s telling me that I may have to wait up to 4 hours to be seen.
But hang on! It must be broken or something, because the nurse has just called out “Mr Blenkinsop” and I’ve only been there ten minutes. I put my hand up and when she comes over I mention how the screen says I should be waiting 4 hours and it’s all wrong. She agrees it is all wrong - telling me it should actually say 6 hours and she’s only come to take some details to make sure the government stats say that we are being dealt with quickly enough.
Hope turns to despair in an instant. Then I notice the vending machines the size of articulated lorries over in the corner – just above them is a sign saying that people with sprains and suspected broken limbs etc shouldn’t eat anything before they’ve seen the doctor.
What’s that all about? Are they taking the piss? Nah! Only if they're checking for STD's and the like I suppose. I've only got a sprained ankle.
I've never really had the desire for a microwaveable burger before - but now I’m thinking I bet Gordon Ramsay couldn’t turn out something as tasty as one of those. Mmmmmmm!
I start eating my hand as a diversionary tactic. Just to take my mind off the burgers.
Then I decide to take the piss myself. I hobble over to the toilet and of course there’s no lock on the door but I luckily only need to do number ones. I point the tackle at the delightfully fashioned stainless steel bowl sans seat – looks like they’d bought up a job lot of ex-prison sanitary ware - and relieve myself taking care not to actually come into contact with any of the surfaces or fittings in the toilet.
When I come out again paramedics are clustered round the old boy and they’re putting him on a stretcher and wheeling him away to a ward. Seems he’s given up the will to live. I overhear one of the managers tell one of his colleagues that this one will look good on the stats for response times. Ten minutes only.
They finally see me after 5 and a half hours – so not all bad then – tell me not to put too much weight on my ankle and give me two paracetamol for the pain. As I hobble out I’m starving and I spot the vending machines again. Wahoooo! So I wade in and buy two microwaveable burgers. Sod the expense!
I spend the next day back at the A&E with what I think is a grumbling appendix only to be told after another 5 hour wait that's it's just a dose mild food poisoning. The doctor asks me if maybe I've eaten something dodgy recently.
I don't think my manic sarcastic laugh translates very well into his Eastern European sense of humour. He just stares at me and wonders whether or not to refer me for psychiatric assessment.
I decide to make good my escape before he makes up his mind.
Oh! Here’s me bus. Cheerio.
