... of Doc J?
The powers that be have shut the main road through Ambridge this week. As a result of their thoughtlessness I have to take a more circuitous route in to work. This takes me down roads I used to commute on regularly, but have not visited in over a decade. It also gives more time for automphalopsy*.
The first thing that strikes me is how mutable our sub-urban landscape has become. Factories that had been standing by the roadside since the 1920’s when last I traveled this road, have vanished. The manufacturing has been outsourced to the Baltic I gather. In place of the factories we have “Rabbit Hutch” housing and apartment blocks that might have graced a 1980’s Bruckheimeresque Miami harbour-front, but which on a bleak Borchester December morning end up looking absurdly out of place. I mean, who in blighty can honestly say they get any mileage out of a balcony for god’s sake, specially a balcony 0.5m from a main road. I suppose if we were slightly more touristique in the summer they might come in handy for serving cream teas to the upper story occupants of open topped busses, but we’re not, and they won’t.
Now, having digressed almost as massively as I was detoured this morning, back to the main business of the day. Traveling these familiar yet unfamiliar roads took me back ten years or so to a fresher faced less worldly wise Dr J. The practice has come a long way since then, as have famille Jest. Most of it has been good. Some has been awful. On the whole though not a bad decade. But I can’t help feeling I’m slowly morphig in to a latter day Doc Morrisey**. I find myself saying in all earnestness to punters with lurgi, “Oh yes, I’ve had that too… wonder what it is?” or “Oh yes Mrs. Snell, there’s a lot of it about” or even, “Well if I were you I’d just keep on taking the tablets. Now tell me about the old love life….”.
Still, said with a knowing smile and tongue firmly planted in cheek I reckon that makes me post-modern. So that’s alright then.
*I googled this and so far it doesn’t seem to exist so I’m claiming ownership of it. It’s my neologism till proven otherwise. So there. (And a hob nob to the first respondent to correctly attribute it’s meaning) (And no, it’s not rude).
** I didn’t get where I am today by explaining obscure seventies sit com references.