Beverlonian

 

I discovered this old school magazine  when sorting through the detritus of death. It was published in the autumn term of 1971. The school was Beverley Grammar School in the heart of East Yorkshire. It is where I pursued my A level studies in the sixth form. The school was founded long ago and is believed to be the oldest grammar school in England.

I joined the school in September 1970 and left in June 1972. They were happy days. At the end of my first year I designed the school magazine's new front cover shown above. Within the pages of that particular "Beverlonian"  there was a prize winning essay I had written titled "Trees" about the future of the natural environment and also this rather enigmatic short poem:-

I was just seventeen - well you know what I mean...

In the past few days there has been talk in the British media about the ownership of Manchester United  football club possibly being transferred to Britain's richest man - Jim Ratcliffe. His massive wealth has grown out of the company he founded in the nineties - the Ineos Chemicals Group. He is the same Jim Ratcliffe who attended Beverley Grammar School at the same time as me, leaving in the summer of 1971 and listed, as I have just discovered,  in the same "Beverlonian":-

And this is Jim Ratcliffe today, looking rather happy. Well who wouldn't be with a reported fortune of $30 billion (US)? He now lives in Monaco most of the time to avoid paying millions in taxes each year.

from Yorkshire Pudding https://ift.tt/QMIkbeK

NHS

 My relationship as a patient with the nhs has been, thankfully, a short one. 

In sixty years I have only used the hospital system a few times for more minor conditions and with the exception of some temperamental behaviour from one GP and an incredibly snide call handler my experiences have in the main been exemplary. 

The GP, I saw face to face , so I could handle his pomposity with some assertive “ Do you talk to all your patients this way?”

Working in a large Yorkshire Teaching hospital where nurses stood no shit from anyone, grounds you when you come across senior doctors who think they are mini Gods. 

Back in the 1980s nurses were more, hummmmm ….. gobby?

The call handler, I have subsequently pieced together was either fired or left his job. His supervisor blandly tried to smooth over the cracks of his behaviour by saying he doesn’t work for the department anymore.

I had rang his department to book an urology appointment which had been cancelled by the hospital due to unforeseen circumstances . While I was waiting for him to give me a new appointment , I could clearly hear the whole conversation his colleague was having with another patient. When he returned to the phone , I told him so , and said I was concerned about confidentiality. 

The chap, non verbally shrugged and said Well you won’t know the person and why they were talking about . 

That comment went down like a pork chop in a synagogue

What followed was an interesting debate between gobshite ( me) and bored phonehandler (him) and sensing I was not going to get anywhere with him I just asked him to sort out my phone interview with the urologist . 

He gave me an appointment eight weeks later

On that afternoon , no urologist rang.

No appointment had indeed been made or registered. 

I had been documented as a cancel 

My kidneys are bad today. 

I could have done with that appointment. My subsequent one is very soon

But it’s been an age waiting

Im seriously thinking of going against all my homegrown principles and simply going private

I am reminded of an odious neurologist who once visited my ward to assess a patient who was said to be in a persistent vegetative state. The , patient, a young boy seemed to be reacting to certain stimuli though we couldn’t be sure and the doctor was called to allay the fears of the staff who understandably were troubled by what they saw. 

The consultant was brusque and imposing when he asked the boys nurse what she thought, and I remember the difficulty which the nervous and inarticulate nurse had when trying to explain her worries

We examined the patient and afterwards the consultant confirmed his original diagnoses referring to the request to review stupid and emotional bordering on the histrionic 

He looked at me , the nurse in charge, for affirmation 

“ You’re  a bit of an arsehole” 

Was all I could manage

from Going Gently https://ift.tt/wtSulOx

Day

 Recovery is sometimes very strange

Takes more time than you want

The test I must take

Every day

from R's rue https://ift.tt/5nWX4IV