So what's a GP?
I don't know, and I don't give a rat's arse either.
All I do know is that for the next 3 weeks, I am medical student (read: unpaid secretary, general dogsbody and coffee bitch --Ed.) to five of 'em. And I'm already finding out that contrary to all the tales of cushy, boring, golf-afternoon-filled lives we've all heard about GPs, their lives are anything but boring.
But because I'm far too generous and giving (snigger --Ed.) to keep all my misery to myself, I'll be sharing choice morsels of my adventures in GP-land with all my glorious fans (yes, all two of you! I lost one reader last month. --Ed.) in an attempt to 1. stave off all the hate mail I've been getting since stopping blogging, and 2. stop my brain from leaking out of my ears in boredom whilst I wait for this damn tea kettle to start working for the 36th time today. God, you'd think with all this money they'd at least get a working kettle.
To an 87-year-old woman today: "Hello ma'am, I'm going to give you your injection."
"Hello ma'am, I'm going to GIVE you your INJECTION."
"HELLO MA'AM I'M GOING TO GIVE YOU YOUR INJECTION!"
"Quiet, boy. What d'you think I am, deaf?"
"Hello sir, how can I help you today?"
"Promise me you won't judge me, doctor."
"Um, okay. What seems to be the problem?"
"I can't stop eating those Big Daddy boxes from KFC, doctor."
"Sigh...I know the feeling."