National Health Service....

I saw a lady today wi' Bitemporal Hemianopia. It's quite common, and patients presenting with this need an immediate referral to the hospital for a brain scan. Ophthalmologists don't tend to work weekends, but theres usually a half specialised, jack-of-all-trades GP on call...So I rung up the local infirmary to see whether there'd be anyone there to see her...

ME: Hello is that the Dr on call...?
CowboyGP: Yes...
ME: I've got a lady 'ere wi' a bitemporal hemianopia...I was wondering whether anyone could see her today as an emergency...Shes been complaining of headaches fer t'past 8 months...
CowboyGP: Ok, we wont be able to do any CT scans today...we'll see her on Monday...
ME: Erm...are you sure about that?...Bitemporal hemianopias are sometimes life or death...
CowboyGP: No no it's ok...trust me...Who are you?...
ME: I'm an optom wukkin in t'local area...
CowboyGP: Well that's nice...and I'm the doctor...We'll book her in for Monday...don't worry...
ME: riiight...ok...that's fine...it's your call...
CowboyGP: Yes, it is...give me her details...

*Details given*

I dint trust him...so I decided to ring up another hospital in t'area...

Lady: Hello hospital switchboard
ME: Hello, I'm an optom wukkin in t'local area and I was wonderin whether I could speak to t'doctor on call?
Lady: Yes...putting you through...hold the line...
CowboyGP: Hello?
ME: Hello, Ive got a lady wi bitemporal hemianopia...I was wondering anyone could see her today...?
CowboyGP: Haven't I just spoken to you...?
ME: Erm...you have...?
CowboyGP: Yes I have...I work on behalf of both hospitals in this area...
ME: Ohhh...erm...*long pause*...ok...sorry bout that...The lady wants to be seen at this hospital rather than the other one...
CowboyGP: Ok...we'll book her here...ON MONDAY...theres no chance of having scans done here or over there...so it'll have to be done MONDAY...
ME: *sheepish* ....Ok, Monday...
CowboyGP: Don't worry yourself over it...
ME: ah, ok....and shall I...

*click*

knob...

15 mintes later...He rings back...


ME: Hello?
CowboyGP: Is that the optom I just spoke to?
ME: Yes...
CowboyGP: You don't happen to have the patients phone number do you?
ME: Why?
CowboyGP: Well, I was busy wi' a patient on another line earlier when you rang and couldnt get enough details from you, maybe it'd be a good idea to have her come and see us today for a brain scan...

(he prolly went and read up on it...the shithead...)

ME: Well yeah, that's what i was asking for...but ...youre the doctor...
CowboyGP: Yeh, I was a bit preoccupied earlier...I dint understand what was happening...bitemproal hemianopias could indicate brain tumours...
ME: mmhmm indeed...they could...

*Gave him phone number*

CowboyGP: Ok, do you want to ring her or shall I?
ME: You do it mate, I've done my bit in referring her to you...(knob)...
CowboyGP: What was that?
ME: oh nowt...
CowboyGP: Ok, well i'll give her a ring and thanks fer referring her...
ME: No problem...cheers

*click*

BOOOOOOOOOYAAAAAAH!!!!!!



Inspires confidence in our NHS doesn't it?

Cheers.

Quick Question...

Is it kinda gay-ish fer a bloke to be walkin around wi' an umbrella?

I know those soothern lah-di-dah "okay yah, i'm makin millions on the stock exchange" poofters carry one around lookin well gay, but I hate standing next to a lass on a packed out train wi' a wet coat.

Utter Bollocks...

I have an uncle.

I call him Uncle Bollocks.

I'm sure everyone has an Uncle bollocks. It's those Uncle Bollocks' that think that they're the dogs bollocks. My Uncle Bollock's the same. That is, he thinks he's the dogs bollocks. When in fact, all he does, is talk bollocks.

An example if i may:

Uncle Bollocks: Nistelrooy used to play for Aston Villa before he joined Man Utd. I read it in the paper.

Now to you ordinary plebs who know nowt bout football, this may seem quite an insignificant statement. Those of you who do know summat about the beautiful game, know that he needs to be hung from his bollocks.

Let me give you a brief history into the life of Uncle Bollocks:

Born in India.

There, that statement alone says it all. Most blokes who I've met from India, come over 'ere to get married to our lasses, inherently think that they're the dogs bollocks. I've seen them strut about as if the sun shines out of their arses. 'Studs' with slicked out hair, side parting. Couple of juicy ferrets stuck on their upper lip. Top button undone, to show that they're smuggling a large hamster underneath.

I admit, they do tend to be more streetwise than us brits, but then then that doesnt mean they can come 'ere and try screwing the system, without a second thought for whether it's Halal or not. I may be generalising a likl, but screw you, this is my blog.

Im not racist. Honest.

Anyway, I digress a likl. My rant against fobs is for another blogpost.

Back to Uncle Bollocks.

Once, my father was driving the car (an automatic) wi' Uncle Bollocks in t'passenger seat.

Uncle Bollocks: You're dipping the clutch...
Father: What?
Uncle Bollocks: I can tell, you're dipping the clutch.
Father: It's an automatic you twat, there is no clutch.
Uncle Bollocks: Automatic cars have clutches...I've seen them.
Father: Shut up, you're talking bollocks again. Stop talking bollocks.

He once tried changing the taps in the bathroom sink, "it'll only take me 15minutes"
Bollocks.
4 hours and several trips to DIY later, we called a plumber.
Cost us 60 quid. Twas done in half a hour.
Uncle Bollocks' reply? "I didn't have the right tools"

Do you have an Uncle Bollocks? Does he talk bollocks? Does he think he's the dogs bollocks?

If you do, then please let me know. I'm doing a survey.

Cheers

And I make that 25 bollocks.


In next weeks episode : Uncle Knobhead

Yeh...

Thought I'd update you guys on stuff that's been happening to me in the last week or so...read it only if you're interested...If you're not interested...fuck off by pressing ALT + F4...cheers...


1) Mr 'A' thought I was a GP. He took his shoes and socks off for me to have a look at his crusty toes. Nice.

ME: Diagnosis? Well...erm...crusty toes. Obviously.

2) Mrs 'W' liked my hair...

Mrs 'W' : I like your hair...
Me: ...erm...thanks...

*long pause*

Mrs 'W': Can I stroke it?
Me: Yeh, sure why not...

*strokes hair*

Mrs 'W': Smooth...
Me: chyeh...it is, isn't it...

(Must point out that Mrs 'W' is 72 years old)

3) I want one of these badboys...saw it in Dixons...CLICK QUICK! ...:drool:...and don't come to me wi' the 'TV is haram' spiel...you love it really...admit it...

4) Bastard Islamica pissed me off a few times.

5) Train fares have gone up...again. Thieving gits.

6) I went to a 'halal' takeaway...Ordered a 'Meat Feast' pizza...Took it back to work...Realised that there were little squares of pink meat on it...Binned the pizza...Rang the takeaway...You have to remember that it's run by a bunch of Turkish immigrants...Probably illegal...You can also have your phone unblocked there for a fiver...or even buy a new one...for a fiver. Dodgy bastards.

Monkey: Hello *blank* Peeza
ME: *deep voice* Hello, Yeah I'd like to order a pizza...
Monkey: veech van?
ME: erm...meat feast...what toppings do you put on it?
Monkey: meat...you know...schicken...beef...pepperoni...ham...donner...all...
Me: wait...did you say HAM?!!...
Monkey: yes...ham...
ME: but..but...you sed it 'alal!...
Monkey: *pause*...yus...it is halal...
ME: you have halal ham?...
Monkey: its schicken ham...
ME: riiiight...I'll call you back in two minutes...

*click*


N.B. Some names may have been changed to protect the identities of all those involved

Never going there again...I'll stick to my McDonalds...thank you very much...Does such a thing as 'chicken ham' exist?...

In next weeks episode: Mr 'R'...the Mute.


Cheers