They Won't All Get Your Jokes

 

As I've noted several times, if you are a HP or indeed in any acute healthcare profession, it's likely you will develop an unusual sense of humour, see: https://hpanwo-hpwa.blogspot.com/2025/03/rose-cottage-humour.html. Unfortunately not everybody will understand your sense of humour if they have not shared your unique experience of such service. This can easily lead to misunderstandings and offence. You have to be careful whom you share some of your hospital jokes with. Case in point: I was on a patients' forum a while ago, one which I won't identify, when somebody was telling the story of their endoscopy appointment. Endoscopy is a medical technique in which a doctor examines the inside of a patient's body using a small electronic camera. It is an alternative to diagnostic surgery. It is far less invasive and can usually be done in outpatients. It has only been carried out for a couple of decades because the technology has only recently been invented. The most common kind of procedure is to insert the camera, called an endoscope, into a body cavity such as the mouth, anus, vagina, urethra etc. One of the forum members was talking openly about his anal examination and I wrote as a reply: "I once dated a woman from endoscopy. She was surprisingly vanilla in bed!" This went down like a lead balloon. Nobody openly criticized me for it, I received no PM's from the moderator; but the usual replies and reactions were absent indicating the social media equivalent of a stony silence. I deleted my comment and things went back to normal. The joke I had made was one distinctly embedded in hospital culture. Jokes are funnier when you don't have to explain them, but maybe I should have just left it on the thread and posted an apology-stroke-explanation below it. It compares the practices of endoscopy to extreme sexual activity; bondage, S&M etc. The term "vanilla" was used by one of the characters in the book Fifty Shades of Grey by EL James, a bestseller about violent sex. It means normal sex without the violence... As the late great Frankie Howerd used to say, please yourselves! I really should have known better, but I can be a bit insensitive at times when reading other people on forums. Hope readers can avoid my mistake.

One for the Fesshole

 

The Fesshole is a social media phenomenon which acts as an outlet for people to reveal dark secrets and wrongdoings they have committed; funny not criminal. It is short for "confession hole" and probably refers to the anonymous opening in a church confessional between where the priest sits and his parishioner. A friend made me aware of it and some of its content is hilariously embarrassing; therefore the least I could do is contribute to it myself, and I have the perfect ingredient. Sometime back in the '90's I was having a drunken night in with some brother HP's and a few hangers on. It started in the social club after the 2-10 had finished and ended up in Arthur Sanctuary House, the main staff accommodation block. One of the revellers was called Oswald, not his real name. He was not a porter and was not even on the civilian staff. How he became attached to JRH society was always a bit of a mystery. He ended up marrying a nurse, but that was years later. Anyway, a nurse's dress made its appearance... somehow and Oswald put it on. This was for a joke of course, except he kept it on all night. (He eventually turned out to be bisexual, leaning heavily on the homo side; and that was not a surprise to anybody who knew him in those days.) We eventually left ASH and took a raucous stroll through the hospital grounds. This was relegated to the nearby streets after security threw us out. I can't quite recall what happened after that except that at about 3 AM I found myself wandering home carrying Oswald's stolen nurse's dress.

In those days I lived with my parents shortly after splitting up with my daughter's mother and when I got home everybody was asleep at that hour. I can't remember my thought processes, or what passed for them after about five pints of cider and a dozen vodka shots, but I decided to put the dress in the laundry basket. I think I just wanted to see what happened if I did. It took about two days and then my mother called me into the lounge where she was reclined in her armchair as usual. "Ben, could you come here for a moment please?" She always addressed me like a head porter summoning me to the office. "Ben, I found something strange while doing the washing; it looks like a nurse's uniform. Do you know how it got there?" I shook my head and replied: "No idea, mum." I was desperately suppressing the urge to laugh, and she knew it. My mother was disabled by a condition that was never identified, but it resembled multiple sclerosis and worsened steadily during her lifetime. As a result she suffered a lot of frustration by not being able to do much physical activity. By the time she died in 2006 she could barely walk a dozen steps. I think this was the main reason she was extremely paranoid, controlling and nosy. She wanted to know every single thing that went on in the house and in our lives. She continuously criticized everybody else over everything we did. She once challenged me because she thought I had been running a tap in the bathroom too hard. She worked this out by listening from the bottom of the stairs. Her ears were like a bat's. The problem was she always had absolute conviction in her own conclusions and believed she was incapable of making a mistake. Once she had decided on something she never changed her mind. As a result a lot of her judgements were wrong. I found this very bothersome. I think this was why I decided to plant the nurse's dress in the laundry. I knew she would find out and her brain would immediately start spinning like a flywheel to come up with some kind of explanatory model for how this situation had come about. I wanted some payback and gained a lot of catharsis from it. (This was for many other reasons to do with my terrible relationship with her.) She stared at me suspiciously while I struggled to keep a straight face. She frowned. "Are you sure, Ben?" "A hundred percent, mum." I responded. There was a long pause in which she glared at me balefully. "Alright, you can go now." Immediately afterwards I heard her on the phone talking to Isabel, her unofficial stepmother. I couldn't hear all the words, but I could guess the gist of the conversation: "A, B or C has happened. It's all Ben's fault and he is lying about it!" The phone-call lasted about an hour. I deliberately avoided moving closer to hear the words because it would have caused me a lot of emotional pain; see here for background: https://hpanwo-voice.blogspot.com/2023/10/am-i-gate-child.html. After that my father came home for work and it was his turn on the stretching rack. There were no raised voices. Arguments between my parents were always calmly one-sided. My mother accused and attacked, and my father just bowed his head took the shit. At one point I heard him say: "I really know nothing about this, Marga!" She didn't believe him. They themselves had a very rocky marriage involving all kinds of ménage à plusieurs that I won't describe in detail because it involves more painful childhood memories. If you're curious, this is a where I have covered some of it previously: https://hpanwo-voice.blogspot.com/2019/10/peter-croft-and-ben-emlyn-jones.html. That was not the end of it. For about three weeks afterwards my mother drove herself into a frenzy trying to solve The Mystery of the Appearing Nurse's Dress. At one point I overheard her talking to her friends that she suspected my father of having an affair with one of the domiciliary nurses who cared for her. I was tempted at that point to come clean, but my bitterness stopped me. For most of my life I had resented my parents enormously; my mother for her malice and my father for his weakness. So I left the outrage to play itself out. Did I enjoy it? Yes, I had to giggle continuously under the blankets on my bed so nobody could hear me. Do I feel guilty? Maybe slightly, but not to any great degree. This all happened about thirty years ago. Eventually the storm blew over and our family returned to normal. I retrieved the dress from the washing machine and returned it to Uniform Issue. There you have it! I've confessed! Not that it makes any difference. My mother and Isabel are dead and my father never reads the HPWA. Still, I hope you who do so enjoyed this little acknowledgment of misdemeanour.
See here for more information: https://hpanwo-tv.blogspot.com/2020/02/humiliation-reply-to-stefan-molyneux.html.

The Weirdest HP Job of All

 

Almost a week has now passed since the opening of Disclosure Day and so anybody who is really hardcore about its themes will almost certainly have seen it. See here for my review without spoilers: https://hpanwo-tv.blogspot.com/2026/06/disclosure-day-day.html and with spoilers: https://hpanwo-tv.blogspot.com/2026/06/disclosure-day-film-review.html. Therefore I can talk about its content more openly now, but this article is also a spoiler just in case you don't want it; so feel free to stop reading till after you've watched the film. The final scene is, of course, full of amazing imagery and tension. It's hard to analyze everything that happens in those climactic few minutes, but I was surprised to find it includes a hospital portering element. What happens while the unscheduled historic TV broadcast is underway is that a wheelchair arrives in the studio. I can't remember if it is Hugo himself who pushes it or somebody else; whoever they are, they are the most unusual HP ever! You see, the wheelchair is covered by what looks like a small oblong builders' tent. This is unzipped and under that there is a strange dome shaped metal contraption and when that is moved aside you see it is protecting a tall grey alien. I'm not an expert on ET medicine, but I got the impression that the creature is old and in bad health, in fact it might be from the Roswell incident which would make it at least eighty years old. In the previous scene outside the TV centre while the viewer's attention is focused on the bad guys and good guys fighting over the electrical supply, you see a mysterious white lorry pull up round the back. It turns out that it is ferrying the alien in its wheelchair. The alien gets to its feet with the help of a built-in hoist and in the last couple of minutes of the film, it interacts with the people in the studio. It is incredible that Steven Spielberg's latest summer blockbuster pays homage to we proud and dignified HP's and even suggests we could play a role in the most incredible revelation the world has ever seen. If it ever happens for real, could I please wheel in the alien?
See here for background: https://hpanwo.blogspot.com/2020/02/ufo-disclosure-portal.html.

Why Do People Hate Me?

 

Surely I'm not the only one who experiences this? You know somebody and they truly despise you. Maybe it's for a reason; you've done something bad to them and they can't forgive you. However, very often it's a baseless hatred with no motive at all; you've done them no harm at all, and you might not even know them very well. For me this used to happen all the time. Probably over half the people I interacted with responded in this way. In my case I know what the source of that ire was, I just didn't understand it. It very often arose after that "popping the question" moment, see: https://hpanwo-hpwa.blogspot.com/2022/10/popping-question-responses.html. Their face turns into a blank stare and they stop talking to me. Very often they leave the conversation and try to avoid me afterwards. Sometimes they don't actually "pop the question" to me directly, their behaviour changes when they hear about my answer through the grapevine. "Have you heard Ben is proud to be a hospital porter?"... "Oh my God, no! How could he!? He has no such right!" This loathing can reach truly obsessive levels. It happens especially online, but I don't know if that's because the trolls hate me more than other people or just because it's easier and safer to express feelings over cyberspace. For example, when I got discharged from the NHS, see: https://hpanwo-hpwa.blogspot.com/2025/01/thirteen-years-on.html, one of my trolls created a new social media account, seeing as I had blocked all his others and he knew I would block this one too, specially so he could gloat about it. He said: "I hear you've lost your job, Ben. I'd just like you to know that I'm currently having a champagne breakfast to celebrate." I always found this vitriol incomprehensible. If I am proud to be a HP what makes them the injured party in that situation? I've come across a YouTube channel that is fascinating. It is packed with information that I've never heard before; needless to say I've subscribed. It's based on the work of the philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche and one of the videos is called Why People Hate You for No Reason- The Brutal Truth by Friedrich Nietzsche. It is the best attempt I've ever come across to answer this conundrum.
 
According to Nietzsche, the negativity is their problem. It's not about you; it's about their feelings towards themselves. You are simply the means by which they can see elements of themselves that they otherwise ignore and hide from. To be a proud and dignified HP has certain implications; it means that you feel positive about yourself and your occupation without peer approval or admiration from wider society. Many other people deep down would like to feel the same way about themselves, but they can't. They need external validation from their community and they understand what a precarious position that is. Yet they can't admit it because they lack introspective awareness; they are what are commonly known as "NPC's", see: https://hpanwo-voice.blogspot.com/2022/04/ben-emlyn-jones-on-msp-second-series.html (Programme 337). For this reason the only way they can deal with it is react with jealousy and hostility towards the proud and dignified HP for making them feel that way. Another problem is that most people are what Robert Anton Wilson called "neophobes", afraid of change, taking comfort and feeling secure in normality and stability. A proud and dignified HP inevitably rocks the boat. The sad thing is, all people who have advanced human beings as a species have had to endure the hardship of being resented for forcing their companions out of that comfort zone. Whether it was the caveman who found a new and better way of carving stone; or the inventor who thought alternating current would work better than direct current, see: https://hpanwo-tv.blogspot.com/2019/07/the-current-war-film-review.html. Just think what we could achieve if we valued mavericks instead of denouncing them! Also proud and dignified HP's are, virtually by definition, self-confident. Those who lack self-confidence may feel envy towards those who do because, deep down, they suffer from their fear. "They see the world through the lens of their own wounds", as Nietzsche said. Source: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VoqBUFJvGv0. This, of course, does not only apply to HP's; anybody can be in this position. I think my comment under the video says it all: "Well, that comprehensively solves one of the biggest mysteries of my life!" This revelation has actually been of some consolation to me. It's also reduced my own reciprocal feelings of anger towards the ODP's and others who gave me a hard time, especially "Jack Shaw", see: https://hpanwo-hpwa.blogspot.com/2023/05/i-lied-to-jack.html. I've also lost a lot of the arrogance this tension generated, arrogance I never knew I was expressing beforehand. I now feel more compassionate towards my aggravating acquaintances.

Happy St Theo's Day 2026!

 

On behalf of every serving hospital porter, every former hospital porter, and everybody else who loves, appreciates and supports us, with all the Pride and Dignity of my Extremely Proud and Dignified Brother and Sister Porters, I'd like to wish all my friends and readers, a very happy St Theo's Day.
See here for The Gas Spanner St Theo 2026: https://hpanwo-radio.blogspot.com/2026/05/the-gas-spanner-programme-163.html.

Where Does This Meme Come From?

 

I've found a very interesting image. It was on a Facebook group I've joined that opposes Digital ID. As you can see, it depicts a street protest in London against the scheme and in the foreground are a row of NHS servicepeople; two nurses, a doctor and a paramedic. There is one further character that is distinct because he is a hospital porter and his back is turned to the viewer. He appears to be pushing a trolley between the two nurses. In a strange way it, at first glance, it looks like the porter is giving a speech to the crowd and his NHS colleagues. The man looks nothing like me, he is slimmer and has a good head of hair; however, I suspect the meme is based on me. I don't know who made it and they have not contacted me. These days artistic talent is not necessary to make good artwork and this was probably created by an artificial intelligence art system. I'm glad to have provided inspiration for this picture. I do oppose Digital ID passionately. I have done so since my daughter's school tried to take her fingerprints, see: https://hpanwo.blogspot.com/2007/11/this-is-drawing-done-by-my-12-year-old.html. Since that happened the Big Brother surveillance state has grown. At some NHS hospitals they are now forcing staff to register their fingerprints and a scanner like the one at the school is used to clock in and out and even log tasks.

It's Changed!

 

My family has recently suffered a very upsetting experience, my daughter's uncle has died; not my own brother, her mother's brother. He was seventy-five years old and has been in very poor health for several years, but he was definitely one of the closest members of my extended family. I reported on this during the last two episodes of The Gas Spanner, see: https://hpanwo-radio.blogspot.com/2026/05/the-gas-spanner-programme-159.html and: https://hpanwo-radio.blogspot.com/2026/05/the-gas-spanner-programme-160.html. We called an ambulance for him last Friday week and he was taken to the JRH Emergency Department. From there he went to the Emergency Assessment Unit and was put into a side room. I didn't say anything to the family at the time, but I knew from my experience that at that point the doctors had little hope for his recovery. He was kept comfortable for four days and then he peacefully passed away. That's all I wish to say about him right now, but I would like to comment on what it was like to visit the John Radcliffe Hospital for the first time in many years. It has totally and utterly changed, mostly for the worst. The ED has been completely reorganized with the triage area where the resuscitation room used to be and a new resus near the major side doors. I don't know why this was done, but I do know that there's a cast iron rule that anything in the NHS that's not broken always has to be fixed. The place generally looks far more compact and crowded with less open space. The waiting room is sealed off from the rest of the unit by heavy duty locked doors, a system I noticed also during my recent visit to a London hospital, see: https://hpanwo-hpwa.blogspot.com/2025/07/uch.html. I assumed this was just local practice in the capital, but it obviously is nationwide.

On my second visit to my daughter's uncle on the Saturday I walked there and entered ED directly from the outside. It has something strange surrounding the entrance ramp that I've not seen before. It looks to me like a high security fence, but designed not to look like one, similarly to the "lorry ramming of peace" barriers you see in major cities that are all done up with flower pots and artwork. I got the feeling this fence is designed to have barbed wire on the top of it if needed, but the Oxford University Hospitals Trust (it's changed its name from Oxford Radcliffe Hospitals Trust) aren't going to unless it is "politically necessary". Despite that, the new ED does have the atmosphere of a military camp. The Illustration above very out-of-date. Inside there was a much denser security presence than there used to be with a guard visible all the time. One of them recognized me and said hello. He used to be a porter, but has since been promoted... if you can call it that. On our first visit, the Friday afternoon, I went to the main hospital entrance and was greeted by a civilian receptionist who was most unhelpful. She was clearly doing her best, but seemed unable to locate the patient we asked for. She made two phone calls and then wrote down a phone number on a scrap of paper for us to call. This is absurd. The main duty of the receptionist, whether desk porter or civilian, is to direct visitors to the part of the hospital they are trying to find. This should be very simple; they are supposed to have a database of all the patients' locations in front of them; and it used to take just a few seconds to search and pinpoint the ward or department the visitor is looking for. What on earth has gone wrong? Ironically the Trust has spent over a million pounds revamping the entire entrance and main street area so that it looks like some kind of designer shopping centre/hotel lobby/airport lounge combination; yet at the same time its basic and necessary practical aspects have fallen into total dysfunction. Do they think if they simply shock-and-awe us enough with stained glass panels, polished beach screens and stripy floor lino we will not notice how downright crappy the service is? My ex-partner, my daughter's mother, is disabled and can only walk a few dozen yards so I had to find a wheelchair for her. There were none at all in the public pool, but luckily I then met a brother porter who recognized me and he showed me their secret stash in Outpatients. I asked him where the lodge was these days and he said: "There is no lodge"; that doesn't surprise me, see: https://hpanwo-hpwa.blogspot.com/2022/08/new-lodge.html. My brother HP was dressed in the uniform issued by Mitie; it has changed the traditional light blue shirt to white, see: https://hpanwo-hpwa.blogspot.com/2021/11/the-mitie-hps.html. To say that I was dissatisfied with my experience at the JRH is such an understatement I can hardly describe it. I would like to put in a complaint, but where would I begin? Maybe it's because I've come back after so long that I notice things people who have been there all this time don't because it's crept up on them slowly, like the classic frog in a saucepan analogy. Even if I hadn't been visiting under such tragic circumstances I'd have been dismayed, but I was. All I can do now is hope and pray I don't have to return there again anytime soon.