The National Health Page #3

Don't make him laugh too much,

he hasn't got a bottle!

I don't want a bottle. I'm not a baby.

Shan't we put him in the chair?

No, let's walk him,

he needs the exercise.

Yeah. Might make him a touch

less lively when his wife comes in.

- There's a clever boy!

- Go it, Doctor!

Which is why they invented rugby!

Keeps their minds off it.

I didn't hear that remark.

I used to be a scrum-half.

I could run like a rabbit.

Yeah. Not only run!

- Ooh, look out, he's doing it.

- Oh, God help us!

- You hold him, I'll get the chair!

- Why didn't you have a bottle?

I don'! want a bottle!

I'm not a baby!

You're gonna fall!

Naughty boy! You all right?

He caught me across the ear.

Here, have a lie down.

Here, I'll get the screens.

Dr Bird?

Are you all right?

I've been on duty

for twenty-nine hours!

Why are you keeping him

alive like a baby'?

Thank you, Mr Mackie!

You know he'll never walk again!

Save it for a more suitable occasion.

We know it. His wife knows it!

- But you have to keep the farce going.

- Tell us the same old story

- La la la la la la

- I'll get him a fresh pair of knickers.

Right, Dr Rees,

get those trousers, shall we?

There we are! There!

Spot of bother with Dr Rees.

He Welsh or something?

Welsh, yes.

Thought I could tell the brogue.

Stroke. Spunky old blighter!

Next to him, er, Mr Flagg.

Bladder trouble and complications.

By the door, Mr Mackie.

Not very cheerful looking,

any of them.

I've found that if they keep you in the end

bed, you can prepare to meet your maker.

Our aim is to, er, work our way along,

to the farthest window by the balcony.

I'm Mervyn Ash, er, tummy ulcer.

Been in here a fortnight so far.

On a blotting paper diet.

Tapioca, semolina, boiled fish, chicken.

The merest glimpse of semolina

makes me heave.

It always has, don't ask me why!

I was horribly depressed

when I came in here.

Largely because I abhor my work.

Clerical. I'm a clerk, if you please.

I see in the daily rag, now, where

they've got a computer thingamajig,

can perform a clerk's entire life work

in ten minutes!

Marvellous, isn't it?

Oh, highly gratifying!

But, er, I've known better things.

There's the jolly old rub.

Handling the young is my vocation.

My first year at a teacher's college

was a benediction!

And even though ten years of pen-pushing, d'you

know, I've never lost my interest in boys.

That's Gordon.

He's what I call my adopted boy.

At this super-duper private school

I put him to in Kent.

Er, got no clothes on, has he?

Swimming trunks! Ha!

Flesh coloured?

- Yeah.

- Mmm-hmm.

A few more white lives saved, Nurse.

Another good day's work.

To me, of course,

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