INT. A DOCTOR'S SURGERY, IN 1348.
THE DOCTOR IS AT HIS DESK, LOOKING AT SOME NOTES. HE PICKS UP A BULLHORN.
DOCTOR
Jack the Carter to Surgery Four please.
JACK ENTERS. HIS SKIN IS COVERED IN DARK BLOTCHES.
DOCTOR
And how are we today?
JACK
Not so good, really. It's these buboes, in my armpits.
DOCTOR
Let's take a look. Oh, yes, those are nasty.
JACK
I've got them in my groin as well.
DOCTOR
Hmm, yes. I have been seeing a lot of these lately. There's something going round. I shouldn't worry about it.
JACK
Only I was a bit concerned because a colleague at work had the same thing.
DOCTOR (NOT INTERESTED)
Oh, yes?
JACK
And he died...
DOCTOR
Say "ah".
JACK
"ah" ...a couple of days later. And his wife. And all his family. And his neighbours. And the bloke who delivers the milk...
DOCTOR
Yes, it can be quite difficult to shake off. Take plenty of rest, and paint a red cross on your front door. Here, I'll write you out a scrip.
THE DOCTOR SCRIBBLES SOMETHING ON A PAD AND TEARS OFF A SHEET.
DOCTOR
There you go, shinbone of St. Earconwald. Rub it on the infected parts three times a day. And if there is no improvement in three days...
PAUSE.
JACK
Come back and see you again?
DOCTOR
Hmm? Oh, yes.
JACK TURNS TO LEAVE, THEN HAS A FURTHER THOUGHT.
JACK
Should I make an appointment with the receptionist?
THE DOCTOR LOOKS AT HIM OVER HIS READING GLASSES.
DOCTOR
I shouldn't bother.
END.