WAITING ROOM Like any rational person I don't look forward to going to see the doctor. I had an appointment today at 3.30 so I arrived at 3.15 with some HP Lovecraft and resigned myself to at least an hour's wait. I am a terribly patient patient. I don't mind waiting to see a person who can give me at worst a death sentence and at best a prod with a cold finger somewhere I'd prefer cold fingers not to go. It wasn't too bad as things turned out. I got a clean bill of health and met my new doctor - a good guy who was in no rush to throw me out of the room like the bastards at my last practice. All in all I was waiting for just over an hour. I didn't get much reading done though. The waiting room was as engrossing as the tale of Charles Dexter Ward and it's inhabitants as intriguing and repulsive as anything from the Cthulhu mythos. The room was half filled with screaming children none of which seemed to belong to any of the dogeared women engrossed in dogeared magazines. Every now and then a mobile phone would reveal the mindset of it's owner: one rendition of 'Stan' by Eminem, the Pink Panther theme tune and one strained rendition of 'Jingle Bells'. The old guy sat next to me seemed to be growling. I turned and found he was fast asleep, cheek bones sharp as shark's teeth and straining to get free. He must have been 106. I watched one filthy child crawl beneath the straining chair of it's mother who minutes later adjusted herself in such a way as to pin the thrashing brat by the throat to the wall. She pulled it out, slapped it once across the face and pushed it back towards the other children who were all chewing on disease ridden building blocks at the back of the room. A young couple came in. She pregnant and deadeyed, he cocky and hand strapped. The receptionist seemed to know him: What you been up to now, Billy? 'E 'it someone wiv an 'arder 'ead than 'is own, innit? A woman sat next to me holding onto a pram that contained her little sperm and alcopop creation. Horrible little thing. It's older sibling, about ten years old and still crawling, stopped on all fours directly in front of the door that opened inwards from the doctor's rooms. The mother looked down but said nothing. I waited for the crackle of the PA system that meant a patient was on his or her way out and about to be replaced with the next soul on the list and sure enough the door opened and hit the kid with a resounding crack in the face toppling him to one side behind the open door. The mother waited for the door to close then reached forward and hit the kid on the head before telling it to go wait outside. The clock ticked off another minute. An old woman shuffled in head down, hump up and directed her questions to the skirting board until she had to reach across for an envelope. Her head came up slowly, the back arched outwards and something cracked. Everyone looked up. Her hands shook as she took the envelope, thanked the receptionist and slowly counterbalanced her head once more. A woman limped in complaining loudly about her fungal infection. Two more devil children were slapped for running around the room. One of them seemed to be called Cafetiere or maybe Cartier. I don't know which is worse. Her friend waited for their respective mothers' eyes to go back to their copies of Take A Break and then punched out with all her strength with a half filled bottle of water. Cafetiere/Cartier cried out loudly 'Ow! My Sally!' Without hesitation her mother's mottled arm shot out and slap number two hit the girl's face. I've told you never to talk about your private parts out loud! Her private parts? Her Sally? Jeebus wept. I'm not a big fan of Sally Fields either but that's going a bit far. I was actually sorry when my name was called and I had to leave these people behind. "Bit of a madhouse out there," I said to the doc as I sat down. "It's a circus," he said, "they give me a chair but I'm not allowed a whip". Like I said, my new doc is a good guy. Mike is blogging to: Johnny Cash