Doctors simply don’t know how good they have it. They can work a fraction of the hours of the common hardworking public and rake in the money for the time they deign to give us. Rather than expending any effort over the weekend they swan off to play golf and laugh openly at the misery of your garden variety sickie.
This is the NHS according to Jeremy Hunt anyway (at least it might be, I’m not sure I was paying a goodly level of attention to his spoutings). However, it’s relatively safe to say that it’s not one hundred per cent accurate. GPs have to work a very long day and in fact the level of common complaints like allergies and such have escalated in recent years.
So they’re tired, bless them. The last thing that a dangerously exhausted doctor wants to see at the end of a long day is a horde of peaky looking migrants turning up on his doorstep. They went through hell and back to get there and picked up various infections and cuts and scrapes along the way. All they need is a little light bandaging and maybe the odd antibiotic if they’re lucky.
However, this was not to be. I don’t think that anyone actually present was to blame per se. The migrants weren’t officially registered under the auspices of the NHS and none had the cash to pay for services. Also, the fatigued clinician was on the cusp of hallucinations and wasn’t entirely sure that the mob outside wasn’t peopled by space monsters and fairies.
Anyway, the crazed migrants in need of doctorly attention kind of sort of broke down the door and played amongst the delicious pills as the doctor finally gave in to the overwhelming desire to nap. They gorged themselves on sterile gauze. Then they were really ill.