Day Sixty Two - doctor's ticks

When I lived in Pimlico over a decade ago, I had an absolutely awful GP. He was a pompous little fat man with slicked back straight hair, high forehead, glasses like Himmler, and always had his head pointed upwards like he had a truly terrible smell between his legs.

What was most annoying about him was that he'd never open his eyes - he'd address you as if you were a jury, him facing towards the judge, but at no point would you see the colour of his eyeballs because his eyelids seemed squeezed shut. And it was very distracting.

Well today I got exposed to a different version of this phenomena with my local GP.

I don't really like the intimacy that a GP tries to establish with you in the first place. When they say things like 'It's my job to worry about you' and 'oh you poor man' I feel like they're crossing a line. As far as I'm concerned they are simply a human vending machine that offers something between a row of cough medicines and prescriptions through to a gatekeeper to other more specialised people who know what they're talking about.

You don't expect your vending machine to say 'I hope you love the diet coke, you look thirsty and you deserve it big guy'. And you certainly don't expect your vending machine to sit in such a way that you can see its knickers.

This could be the diet talking. Not having eaten much but soup over the last few days, I could have low blood sugar and am easily pissed off by anything.