Crippen blames bureaucrats, and nurses who don’t speak English. No doubt he’s right, but anyone who has been at a British university will have grave doubts about the doctors themselves. I mean, have you seen how our medical students behave? It’s one thing to get hog-whimpering drunk, roar yourself hoarse and rub boot polish into one another’s testes; we all did that. What shocked me was the way they would lie in bed and miss their morning lectures. If a Geography student misses a lecture about ignominious rocks, it probably doesn’t matter that much. But with medicine it was presumably stuff that would have been useful to know.
“It’s my left leg, doctor. I think I’ve fractured it.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t do the left leg. I was too drunk.”
“Arnie No-Neck”, who disgraced himself at the rugby club dinner by throwing potatoes at the Dean, is now a surgeon, you’ll be pleased to hear. The oaf will probably be promoted to senior cardiologist about the time I have my first heart attack.
Those whining narcissistic baby-boomers were bad enough, God knows, but when my generation takes over, our poor country will be utterly ruined. I mean it.
I don’t know who these people are.
