A few weeks ago, as I was hobbling on crutches into our local NHS hospital for a spot of rehabilitory circuit training, I took a wrong turning. Suddenly I found myself walking down what seemed like an endless corridor with only a few zombie-like waterbottle-carrying members of staff, some broken beds, and the pungent odour of boiled cabbage for company.
Struggling past the challengingly-named Maxillofacial, Orthotics and Endocrine units, my new hip was in need of a rest. I spotted a vacant seat in an adjacent waiting room but thought twice about sitting down when I discovered that I had just entered the 'Discharge Lounge'.
Fortunately a wheechair was at hand in the nearby 'Department of Portering' outside of which was, in true Nu-Labour style, a board with the names and photographs of smiling senior members of staff. It was interesting to note that, other than Ian Manager, the names were John Supervisor, Andy Supervisor, Graham Supervisor, Peter Supervisor and Phil Supervisor.
It's good to see that nepotism in the NHS is alive and kicking.
