The Doctor Will See You No More

I had a lovely regular client who used to pay (boom boom) me a visit every two weeks or so and was definitely on my favourite punter’s list.

I’m not going to give away any incriminating information as it’s important to me that my men are protected (apart from Mr T of course. What’s sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander (James Hewitt if you hadn’t worked it out)).

My doctor’s surgery was one of those where you would ring up on the day and if lucky enough to get an appointment, you would get who you were given (and be very grateful in these overcrowded, underfunded times). Therefore, I would see a variety of different doctors and nurses when I needed antihistamines and nasal sprays for my permanently blocked nose.

This particular day, I had an appointment with my actual doctor, one of the partners of the surgery who I hadn’t seen before.

I walked in and almost had a heart attack. We recognised each other immediately. NOOOOO!

I clasped my hands over my face and fell down onto the chair peering at him through my fingers. His face turned ghost white. Urgh!

Our voices fell to a whisper:

Me: Don’t worry, you know you can trust me.

Doc: Are you okay?

Me: I think so. Just treat me like a normal patient.

Now give me everything I want! (Only joking).

It’s always a worry that you might bump into a punter when out and about, and it does happen now and again. In fact, I have this mantra I tell new people: If you see me out, don’t say hello to me.

They usually reply: Good Lord, no. Same goes for me please?!


As we all know, there are legal issues when a doctor knowingly screws a patient, so I knew – and hoped – I wouldn’t see him again.

I didn’t.