By way of a change here follows a story about the surgery, rather than the docs or the patients. When I joined the partnership many moons ago we were one of four practices working out of a 1960's vintage Health Centre. The building was on it's last legs, and, being part of the local NHS estate, maintenance was beyond our purview and seldom happened. Within four years the changing nature of Primary Care led us to need more space, but there was none to be had, leaving us with no option but to move out. It was than that we relocated to the present tastefully renovated and extended older property in Ambridge*.
We know it dates from at least the 1920's. We have a bit of wood from one of the replaced sash windows dated 1926 by the then chippy. (We're now almost all UPVC for good or ill). The car park replaces what may have been an even older srtucture which had become very shabby before we had it pulled down.
It's a lovely place, with big consulting rooms and a massive reception / waiting area. We've even got a great big Library and Conference Room upstairs. And we've got a ghost. No really we do. Honest.
How do we know... allow me to ellucidate.
Shortly after we moved in, with all our hi tech computers, cupboards full of mind altering drugs and the like, our burglar alarm started going off. Nothing too sinister in that you might think, but every second or third day, always between 01.00 and 03.00 and requiring the duty partner to be called out to search the premises for miscreants, it began to wear a bit thin. Very quickly. And nothing was ever taken-- ecept for the time some scallywag wandered upstairs and made off with our VCR in broad daylight while the surgery was full of people and the alarms no on, but that's another story.
The alarm company tried to suggest it was down to spiders wandering across the i.r. sensors. But then one of the girls, coming in to unlock early one morning, caught sight of a grey man in the corridor, only for him to vanish when the lights went on. From that point on we knew our practice was haunted. The girls now have a name for the poor soul. Gareth. Apparently it goes with Ghost. He's now a permanent feature of practice life and folklore. I wouldn't be surprised if we start inviting him along to our christmas outing.
He goes through phases. Some years he hardly puts in an appearance. Others, like now, he seems ever present. And this week our practice manager has made a discovery. It seems dear old Gareth is a reggae fan, as is she. He has been spotted skanking to the beat among the chairs in the waiting room of a morning, but only to the steel pulse that is reggae.
So not only do we have a Ghost, but a well cool Ghost at that.
*I'm sensing a future in Estate Agency if the Day Job ever falls through.