Passing my MOT
Yesterday I had my annual check up after which my doctor pronounced me “fit and well”. There is always the fear thet the dark skin pigmentation might be something more sinister or that the ECG should require a referral to a cardiologist “just in case”.
I like my doctor very much. He is overweight, enjoys a drink, vastly experienced and has a reassuring manner. Being over weight and partial to a tipple you don’t get those strictures from young, know it all, life coaches in a tracksuit who have attended a weekend course on nutrition on the dangers of being overweight and moderation with the sauce. Much of the initial discussion was taken up not with my current medical issues but England’s woeful performance in the Rugby World Cup. We both agreed that in an era of flag of convenience England can ill afford their policy of not recruitng those who play abroad and by the way Stuart Lancaster must go. The briefest comparisons of his achievements to date, a couple of victories in the ChurchIll Cup to the CVs of the leading southern hemisphere coaches who fill up three lines of honours confirms this.
English rugby sorted we returned to the business of the day with various tests and examinations. Some of these were conducted via the doctor’s laptop , for example breathing into a funnel can reveal the existence of a tumour in the lung. This said the good doctor, unlike so many GPs, does not spend 90% of the consultation with his head fixed into a screen, he looks you in the eye and makes his notes in pen and ink in the old fashioned way.
Both my father and grand father attended the Middlesex Hospital of medicine as did the good doctor and I have a contempt for these latter day snake oil salesmen posing as acupuncturists, herbalists, nutritionists, osteopaths and homeopaths who have not underwent the rigours of lengthy examination prior to practice. There was a slight element of surprise amidst the relief and congratulations from my p/a Polly that I was certified “fit and well” given my regime but as I always say “many is the fine tune played on an old fiddle” …
