Don't Get Sick at My Hospital

SHEPHERD'S BUSH: So after a hard day at the office and my first proper, cross London prime time commute (from Chez Bu to Bond Street on the Central then change to the Jubilee to Canary Wharf if you're interested) I thought I might finally take some time out to tell you what I've been doing these two weeks past.

I moved doss spots from the Bu to Baron's Court to stay with BK and Rod for a week and a bit. I ended up crashing in flatmate Vanessa's room while she was in Istanbul. It's a quiet little place on a nice street, aside from the Piccadilly and District Lines that run just beyond the double glazed living room windows. About three hunderd metres walk from the cutest Tube stop in the whole of London. Alighting the Baron's Court Tube station at twilight really does make you feel like you're hopping of the platform somewhere green named Somethingshire.

I've been working for the much lauded NHS and got to see, albeit briefly, the Byzantian mediocrity of a massive public service. I was registering patients from doctor's referrals for two weeks. While the work may have been boring I learnt two key things. Firstly, I never, ever have to type the words "rectal bleeding" or "anal fissures" ever again. And secondly as qualified as they may be, perhaps the wise medical fraternity of the globe need a Handwriting 101 course.

The clincher though, other than registering patients for gender reassignment, was that I got to travel to and fro from work via a very quaint walk through a cemetary for about five minutes. It was almost like I was back at uni.