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A right royal disgrace


‘Excuse me, madam, but I would like to see a doctor.’

‘Did you hear that, Joan? He wants to see a doctor! What’s your name?’


‘Date of birth?’

‘10 June, 1921.’

‘What’s the problem?’

‘Well, it’s rather a personal matter…’

‘I’ll be the judge of that. Looks like you’re not even registered with us!’

‘No, I’m here on a family holiday.’

‘Oh dear, oh dear – you’ll have to fill out our temporary residency form and come back later then.’

‘I would greatly appreciate it if I could speak to one of your doctors just now, I will only take a moment of his time… ‘

‘No chance, sweetheart, we’ve got a two-week wait. Have you got any photo ID?’

‘No. I don’t carry any.’

‘Are you foreign? You look foreign to me, there’s something Greek about you – where’s your visa?’

‘I haven’t got one.’

‘Joan, we’ve got a live one here!’

‘But I do have a picture of my wife, though – look here, she’s on the back of this £10 note.’

‘Listen sunshine. We had someone in here last week claiming he was King Arthur. If you wanna get freaky with me, the psychiatry hospital is just down the road.’

‘Well, what is one to do?’

‘Well, one can toddle off and contact the out-of-hours service if one wishes. Ta ta. NEXT!’

Dr Kevin Hinkley is a GP in Aberdeen, Scotland