Moan

I sat in a hospital waiting room this morning, waiting. The nurses had apologised to me when I came in that they were a bit behind because of a broken piece of equipment but like most of the other patients, I’d brought something to read and I was prepared for a wait.

Then the woman opposite me started to moan about still waiting. The man next to me joined in. Every gripe they could find to make, they made, first about the hospital we were in then about the Eye Hospital. ‘Well, what do you expect, it’s the NHS.’

They tried to rope me in so I agreed I’d had to wait at the Eye Hospital, but I was very grateful that the NHS had saved my sight. (I didn’t tell them about the man I know in the transplant unit next door who got a new kidney last week, after waiting years for a match. He was so grateful when he heard he was finally on the list that he went round with a huge grin for two days telling everyone he knew, and didn’t we all grin with him!)

Then they got on to their terrible journeys and how slow the traffic is and how bad the new roundabout is and how there are potholes in the roads. Or road works. ‘Well, what do you expect, it’s the City Council.’

I’m glad they didn’t get on to tax.