Dr HP

 

As a childhood Doctor Who fan the fifth doctor took some getting used to. It's hard to imagine these days when the Doctors generally struggle to last two seasons, but back in the 70's and early 80's the Doctor simply was Tom Baker. I knew of no other, being too young to remember the first three incarnations. Baker portrayed the Time Lord for seven consecutive seasons, still by far the longest ever tenure. The fifth doctor was very different, a much younger man with blond hair and was usually dressed in cricket whites and a cream blazer. He had question marks on his collar to emphasize the enigmatic nature of the central character, along with a Panama hat. He took some getting used to, but eventually he won the hearts and minds of the fans. It amazes me that I've only just discovered that the actor who played him, Peter Davison, was also a HP. A friend of mine has discovered Davison's back-story where it clearly states that he did a number of jobs in his youth while starting out in drama part-time. One of those was a hospital porter. He was also an attendant in "Rose Cottage", a bit of a dead end job, as we used to say. As you can see from his bio in the above illustration, he dislikes rude people. I'm not surprised considering his occupational experience. He will know too much about that! Peter Davison entered civilian life permanently when he accepted the role of Tristan in All Creatures Great and Small, the TV adaptation of James Herriot's famous books about being a veterinarian in rural Yorkshire. Source: https://cuttingsarchive.org/index.php/All_creatures_great_for_the_new_Dr_Who. Doctor Who has changed enormously in recent years, completely for the worse. The idea of a portrayal of the central character winning any hearts and minds, of what few fans the series has left, is laughable. The travesties cast post-David Tennant have caused me to boycott the franchise altogether. Peter Davison is a nostalgic reminder of the golden age of Who, the time when quality on TV was still a thing; when thespians, writers and directors actually did their job well. Luckily, thanks to home media, all the gems of the previous Doctor Who catalogue are available to enjoy. Even if the BBC bans them... which is quite possible... they will be bootlegged. I'm proud that a HP was involved with that glorious historical artistic creation. I salute MEP&DBP Peter Davison.

Beware HP's Bearing Gifts!

 

The illustration above shows one of the most celebrated Roman statues in history. When the Laocoön Group was dug up in 1506 it astonished all those who saw it. The central figure in particular has been praised for being the ultimate depiction of human agony. Its facial expression and posture very skilfully project the animated feeling of suffering. The sculptor is unknown and the work could have been made at any time between about 200 BC and 70 AD. It was found under a vineyard in Rome and immediately moved to the Vatican museum where it remains on display to the present day. This life-size classic sculpture is based on a very old and famous Greek myth, the Siege of Troy. At the end of the Trojan War, the Greek attackers surrounded their enemies in the city of Troy, but the defenders were determined not to surrender. Therefore the Greeks came up with a cunning plan; they pretended to give up and go away, but they left behind a wooden sculpture in the shape of a giant horse. This was supposedly an act of chivalry, a tribute to the courage of their enemy. The Trojans were delighted and eagerly accepted the gift. However, the horse was hollow and inside was a contingent of heavily armed Greek troops. As soon as the horse had been moved inside the fortified walls of the city the Greeks burst out of their hiding place and attacked, conquering the final holdout of their enemy. However, there was one Trojan who saw through the trick and begged his fellow citizens not to fall for it. He was a priest called Laocoön and he warned the others with the classic line: "Beware Greeks bearing gifts!" The other Trojans did not believe him and any who might have been wavering were convinced to keep their mouths shut when Athena, the Greek goddess for war, sent a pair of sea serpents up from the depths. They crawled out of the water, grabbed Laocoön and his two sons and dragged them into the sea where they all perished. Source: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_ZmTQIFA9fY.
 
I wonder if any readers will spot the cruel irony in this story before I explain it to you. Of all the villains in classical mythology, the Cyclopses, Minotaurs and gorgons, the worst fate of all is saved for the person who refuses to conform to society's agreed falsehoods. What's more it is this punishment above all others, more so even than Sisyphus, see: https://hpanwo-hpwa.blogspot.com/2015/10/an-open-letter-to-richard-dawkins.html, that guided the hand of one of the best sculptors who ever lived. Laocoön is the ultimate example of what George Orwell talked about when he said that telling the truth is a revolutionary act. Perhaps a better reference is Joseph Goebbels, Germany's minister of propaganda under Adolf Hitler. Goebbels once said: "If you tell a lie big enough and keep repeating it, people will eventually come to believe it. The lie can only be maintained for as long as the state can shield the people from the political, economic and military consequences of the lie. It therefore becomes vitally important for the state to use all of its powers to repress dissent, for the truth is the mortal enemy of the lie; and thus by extension, the truth is the greatest enemy of the state." And, to be frank, one of those lies is that hospital porters are lowlifes and that to be one and proud of it is the truth enemy. This belief very quickly can reach the absurd extreme of the instinctive and violent rejection of those who challenge the belief. This is because there is a part of all of those believers who know there is another side to the story that, if told, would totally neutralize that precious deception. Another classic line from a more recent piece of fiction, the Wachowski's film The Matrix, is very telling indeed. The Morpheus character says: "You have to understand, most people are not ready to be unplugged; and many of them are so inured and so hopelessly dependent on the system that they will fight to protect it." I know this sounds arrogant of me, but I can't think of any other explanation. It fits like a glove when considering the behaviour of "Jack Shaw", see: https://hpanwo-hpwa.blogspot.com/2023/05/i-lied-to-jack.html. This also explains why, in a health service that has an extraordinary and disgusting indolence when it comes to abysmal standards of service, they are willing to take up arms vigorously against people who merely disagree with the lies everybody else tells each other and are considered essential for maintaining the status quo. In that sense, I am the HPing Laocoön... Yes, I know, I was never attacked and drowned by sea serpents, but I'm sure if the OxRad Trust management had been granted the powers of the Greek gods they would have made sure those serpents would have coursing up the Isis the moment I was suspended. As it was they did punish me in as brutal a way as they could within their real abilities. What a sad state of affairs. What can be done to change things?
See here for background: https://hpanwo-hpwa.blogspot.com/2025/01/thirteen-years-on.html.

Under the Affluence of Incohol

 

I feel now is the right time to share another precious memory of my late friend Barry, see the background link for more. No special occasion, anniversary etc; I just find myself in the mood right now. This occurrence took place in 2003 during the Rugby World Cup. I went to Barry's house to watch the quarter final match loaded down with a few bottles of "Old Git", a popular red wine we used to imbibe during TV sports. By the end of the game those bottles were gone and Wales had lost 28-17; and lost to England to add insult to injury. (England famously went on to win the Webb-Ellis Trophy that year.) We were both in a dismal mood as I left the house Barry shared with his wife and stepson to make my way home. Then I did something rather strange. To this day I can't recall exactly why I made the decision, probably from my sadness mixed with drunkenness, but I chose to travel home a rather unusual way. Barry lived in Cutteslowe, a district in the far north of Oxford. Dissecting the city from north to south is the River Cherwell, a tributary of the Thames/Isis. Instead of heading for Banbury Road to catch a bus or walk down the pavement into town, I headed for the Cherwell in the hope of walking down its bank into the city. I knew that there was a path along the river bank from where the river reached the University Parks. The problem was, I had no idea if there was any pedestrian route of any description between there and Cutteslowe. Before I had walked less than an hour I discovered that there was not; but being very stubborn and determined, I kept going. I struggled through some rather muddy pastures being eyed up by some very intimidating bulls and eventually came to a stream flowing into the Cherwell from the left, the side I was walking. It wasn't a wide stream, maybe a dozen feet; therefore I conjectured that it must be fairly shallow. I decided to wade across it; after all I had come that far and would rather get wet feet than walk all the way back. So I strode out into the water, and discovered that it was much deeper than it looked. Its bed was soft and so I sank in up to my waist. I struggled back onto the bank I'd just left gasping with cold and shock. This was November and the water was freezing. I had no choice now, but to walk back the way I had come, all the way upriver to Cutteslowe. I tried to call Barry and tell him what had happened, but my mobile phone was in my trouser pocket and therefore had been submerged and ruined. I got back to Barry's house about an hour later freezing and dripping. He lent me a spare pair of trousers and allowed me to use his landline to call home. My daughter, aged eight at the time, was a bit worried because nobody had heard from me for about two hours and she was expecting me home. Barry couldn't stop laughing! I knew he would see the funny side of it. I couldn't share his amusement at the time, but did a while later, on reflection. The thing is, Barry never let me forget it. At Christmas his present to me was a rambler's guidebook with a footpath atlas, and... a pair of water-wings! The card read: "Dear Ben. Happy Christmas and I hope this will be of use the next time you go walking while under the affluence of incohol!"
See here for background: https://hpanwo-hpwa.blogspot.com/2022/11/finding-barrys-grave.html.

Hospital Grim Reaper

 

Luckily not a real one this time, like we the example we've discussed before, see: https://hpanwo-hpwa.blogspot.com/2021/12/hospital-pm-scares.html. This time it was an ordinary human being, a man called Leon Gillespie. He decided it would be amusing to climb onto the roof of the Glan Clwyd Hospital in Bodelwyddan, Wales dressed as the Grim Reaper, wearing a black cowl, a mask and carrying a scythe. He stood above the emergency entrance glaring at patients as they were brought in. Gillespie, from the nearby coastal town on Deganwy, was arrested after four police cars and a fire engine arrived; that's more than usually attend a serious on-site crime or fire. He was arrested and pleaded guilty in Llandudno Magistrates Court to causing a nuisance or disturbance on National Health Service premises without a reasonable excuse; and also refusing to leave when directed to by the police and NHS security. He was fined £200. He declined to comment on his motive. The Betsi Cadwaladr University Health Board made a brief statement to express their outrage. They stated that they maintain a "zero-tolerance approach to abuse, aggression or nuisance on all their hospital sites." They have a "commitment to protecting patients, staff and visitors from disruptive or distressing behaviour." (I doubt that!) I can just see the school-marmish scowls on their faces. Source: https://metro.co.uk/2026/08/05/man-dressed-grim-reaper-climbed-onto-hospital-roof-stared-patients-29302265/. I don't know who exactly Leon Gillespie is, but I must say when I first heard about this story my por-dar was bleeping like a faulty alarm clock. I understand that some people might find this prank rather inappropriate, but it is unfortunately another of those moments when I have to force myself not to laugh. People who serve in our hospitals do develop a dark sense of humour as a defence mechanism, see: https://hpanwo-hpwa.blogspot.com/2026/07/they-wont-all-get-your-jokes.html and: https://hpanwo-hpwa.blogspot.com/2022/11/i-really-shouldnt-laugh.html. However that particular form of gallows humour is not shared by the administration... in fact no sense of humour at all can be found anywhere within their parochial and bumptious souls... at least among the minority who haven't sold them.

A Question...

 

Have you ever felt something that I always have: There is a secret. Everybody knows it except me. Everybody else is conspiring to keep it from me; alternatively I'm the only person in the world who cannot comprehend it. When I think about this, I picture myself asking my old telephonist friend Barry about it, see: https://hpanwo-hpwa.blogspot.com/2022/11/finding-barrys-grave.html. I'm not sure how he would reply. I don't think I'm suffering from paranoia; I think it's more having an eccentric personality in a large institution; and the NHS is the world's third biggest employer, after India Railways and the People's Liberation Army of China. Conformism and convention are an unspoken essential in such an institution. I sometimes heard a particular question asked when people's names were mentioned: "Is he normal?" The individuals who asked and answered those questions never defined exactly what was meant by the word normal and I actually wonder if they even could. It's one of those "it just is" things; and in fact that is another hospital catchphrase. Maybe it's just human nature. We are a social species and so certain codes of behaviour are essential to cooperate with others, but there are two problems with that theory. The first is that the most important code for social creatures is natural law. This refers to laws present in all human societies without which no human community could function. They include a prohibition against murder, the unlawful ending of another's life; theft of another's property and harm done to their person, unlawful assault. Natural law is not confined to humans. A wolf that broke natural law would be driven away by the rest of the pack. However, the NHS is a rare aberration. Servicepeople who do harm to others, even patients, are tolerated as much as possible. In fact the establishment accommodates them desperately for as long as they can, literally until the national statue law intervenes, see: https://hpanwo-hpwa.blogspot.com/2015/05/killer-nurses.html. That brings us on to the second problem. At the same time, servicepeople who respect natural law, and even NHS regulations, but also exhibit harmless nonconformist behaviour are swiftly eliminated; for example people who make comedy videos are mopped up within eight days, see: https://hpanwo-hpwa.blogspot.com/2025/01/thirteen-years-on.html. For this reason it is obvious that from the very start my career in HPing was doomed. If they hadn't kicked me out in 2012 they would have found a way to do it soon afterwards based on another pretext. Deep down I always sensed it. I used to say many times to my partner-at-the-time Susan, whom I called the night I was suspended; sentences that included: "... when they sack me." Not "if". "when". I think this is the secret.

More UCH!

 

See here for essential background: https://hpanwo-hpwa.blogspot.com/2025/07/uch.html.
I have gone back to check out the main entrance and public areas of the University College Hospital in London. It was indeed grand, intimidating and pretentious as I predicted; but it was slightly different to what I expected. It was smaller in terms of footprint, which may simply be inevitable on the crowded ground of such a large city. The main entrance consists of a reception desk on the left, manned solely by civilians, and a very prominent security station opposite; another effect of London society. Between them are rows of public seats; not very comfortable ones, similar to those in A&E, see above. The hospital makes up for the lack of horizontal space by going vertical. The floor is dwarfed by a huge atrium rising about eight to ten floors above it. Like the JR West Wing, the atrium has balconies; this architectural template has unfortunately not gone away. However, perhaps the planners are now finally reading the HPWA because the glass parapets are far taller, over six feet. Still, I think the danger will only be removed when they copy the JRH and install floor-to-ceiling windows, see: https://hpanwo-hpwa.blogspot.com/2024/12/jumpers-update.html. The back door to the main street is only about fifty feet away and it opens onto Beaumont Place. There is a lift bay to the north side where I found a pair of baryatric wheelchairs parked below a decorative montage of the hospital's history. The lifts carry you to almost all the ward and departmental areas. To the south side is a huge area with the strange name of "Podium". I went there and saw that it was a standard visitors', public and staff rest area combined with a cafeteria and several shops selling the usual newspaper, sweets and snacks. The PALS, patient advice and liaison service, office was tucked into a corner. There are posters everywhere introducing members of staff from all disciplines, but none from portering that I could see. they included a security officer, catering operator, physiotherapist, an orthopaedic doctor, chaplain, nurse and radiographer. There was also a corridor art gallery; another feature of hospitals that seems to be universal, see: https://hpanwo-hpwa.blogspot.com/2026/01/breaking-bad-art-gallery.html. There was also what looked like a museum cabinet displaying some military medals, presumably awarded to members of staff during wartime. There were also very old documents and letter next to them; I didn't stop to read about any details. There was an internal pharmacy office on the ground floor that had a portable air conditioner, a pipe snaked through the door and the extractor vent was shoved into an overhead duct. The whole place was painted white. Not just pastel with a bit of colour mixed it; it was pure white. After walking around for a while I finally found the most important thing I was looking for, a brother porter. He was dropping off a patient in a wheelchair in the public seating area. His uniform was dark blue and he wore a name badge saying "Peter" with the word "porter" in smaller print below it. I said: "I'm one of you! A hospital porter at the John Radcliffe, Oxford. Pride and dignity, brother!" I saluted him. Peter looked confused. He was young and clearly a recent African immigrant. He didn't reply, but he did smile back at me. For some reason the open area directly outside the main entrance on Euston Road is decorated by what looked like a giant pebble. I found my very brief visit to the UCH interesting, but rather dismaying. The place is bland, corporate, tense and cheap. The decorations and pretty pictures did not solve those matters. My dismay is not mixed with surprise.

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.