I have been pondering my recent visit to the doctor. I have been having a constant nagging pain across my upper back which occasionally causes me to catch my breath. Seeing that it had persisted for more than two weeks, I wanted to be sure that it was not a problem with my lungs.
Which it wasn't. Thank goodness.
So Dr Ali, unable to say what was causing the pain, said: "Take paracetamol". And I thanked him and left, relieved to know my lungs were still intact.
And now, a week and continuing pain later, I am becoming dissatisfied. Not with the pain: at my old scrote stage, pains, aches and creaks are to be expected. No, not with the pain, but with the doctor's advice: "Take paracetamol." It's just too easy, isn't it? Too easy for him, I mean. After all, something is causing the pain.
There is a story of a plumber who was all dressed up to go out on a Saturday evening when his phone rang. It was his doctor, who was in a panic because his toilet was blocked, and would the plumber come round right away? The plumber replied: "Throw a couple of paracetamol in the toilet, and I will be round on Monday morning first thing."
I hope Dr Abdullah Ali never has a blocked toilet, but if he does, I hope he gets that plumber.