Nothing to do with Charlize Theron or Bob Dylan.

Location: Norwich, United Kingdom

Keep on Truckin'.

Thursday, March 16, 2006


I felt honoured to be texted on Friday night by my friend Ash, who has been travelling about Thailand for a few weeks now on his way to Australia, where he is sure to set the convicts alight with his skill in accountancy and work-shirking, the latter of which I discovered last summer. Ashley (or Chipchase* as he came to be known) bought me a cocktail at lunchtime on my 21st Birthday called A Multiple Screaming Orgasm, knowing full well I had "important" work to do for our beloved NHS in the afternoon. As the gloopy mix of Tia Maria, Baileys, Vodka and Kahlua topped with whipped cream fused itself against my stomach lining, I was no longer able to

(a) use the telephone without sniggering, despite the fact that for much of the time it was A&E calling for medical notes
(b) remember anyone's name, incl. staff, patients and, more crucially, MY BOSS or
(c) look at the over-complicated shelving system without being convinced that the numbers were, literally, spinning.

I was especially glad to see that Ash has not altered his seedy ways in favour of culture or, indeed, decency, as I pictured him tapping this into his Nokia on Ko Phan Ngan:

"Full moon town is Gino Ginelli! There's no room for heroes. Get to bed Gitsy"

*For reasons I cannot remember, me, Ash, Sam and Vicky (our stoodent Team) gave ourselves the following nicknames (possibly because it allowed us to talk in code about who-tried-it-on-with-who at the staff parties, or more likely because it shortened the long minutes we had to spend on the phone listening to monotone voices):

Ash: Ashley Chipchase
Sam: Ishmael Onkentel
Vicky: Happy Rahman
George: Prunella Boffin

To combat the boredom of a quiet Wednesday morning, Sam devised a competition to determine who was the greatest team-member. Our task was simple: to get a set of medical notes delivered to us urgently and addressed to our alter-ego. As the entire secretarial staff seemed to be on a coffee break, I spent the next few minutes staring blankly at the computer screen, when I heard, from the next desk,

'No, not T-A-L, T-E-L. O-N-K-E-N-T-E-L. With an E. ISHMAEL ONKENTEL'.

Before I even made a successful call, one of the porters burst into the office, zipping from divider to divider, looking desperately for the P.A. of the anonymous Ishmael who, it was assumed, must be one-of-those-new-consultants-from-abroad-who-had-commandeered-the-Orthopaedic-block. It took Sam all of about 8 seconds to ring all our extensions with the news that said set of notes was sitting on his desk before he put it in the appropriate pigeon-hole, a bit faster than usual. Everyone's a winner!**

**I do in no way endorse this foul abuse of dedicated NHS staff.


Blogger Judas said...

You got loaded when you should be working and you think this has nothing to do with Bob Dylan? "They say sing while you save but I just get bored"

Poetry Politics and Piracy

5:21 PM  
Blogger Georgina said...

Luckily for the NHS I am theirs no more. Now I belong to that other tax-payer's gripe, the student population.

It did feel a lot like 'Maggie's Farm'.

5:33 PM  

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