By Big M

Dr James was in a state of high excitement. The head of the Health Department was coming to present the Emergency Response Awards. A function had been organised at the Tatteredsails Club, as the Health Department Head suffered from Nosocomephobia, a fear of hospitals. This allowed Dr James to introduce himself to board members of the club, thereby enhancing his chances of joining the club. Little did he know that the club was in financial straits, as most members were retired small business owners, not the movers and shakers James was desperate to meet. He’d foregone his usual men’s wear boutique, K-market, and lashed out by purchasing a new ensemble from Mires. He walked into the Executive Suite, “Ah, ladies, I see you’re not dressed for the presentation.” Sister Kent and Mrs Tickle were wearing their normal uniforms.

Uva held the cigarette away from her face, and picked some tobacco from her tongue. “In point of fact, we are dressed for the presentation!” Uva and Tess were sticklers for employees being correctly dressed, in fact, James’ suits and ties got on both of their goats (metaphorically, only Uva owned a goat, but, that’s not for here). “We’re running a hospital, not a bank or a real estate agency!”

“I thought you could at least spruce yourselves up for my, err…our presentation.” James was indignant. “The only other hospital which received an award this year was Hopetown District, for it’s response to a train derailment.”

“Yes, another great disaster, goods train derailed in the shunting yard, one driver fractures wrist.” It was Tess’s turn to sneer. “Health care is going to hell in hand-basket, and managers are patting themselves on the backs for doing what we’ve been trained to do. Uva and I have organised some awards of our own, for doctors, nurses, wardsmen and kitchen staff, you remember, the people who actually did the work on the day!” Tess stormed out of the meeting.

Uva wasn’t ready to leave, as she’d just lit another Camel. She sat savouring the smoke in her mouth. “ I think she’s got a point, it’s not all about ‘benchmarking’ or, ‘key performance indicators’, or ‘budgets’, it’s about how well we look after our patients.”

James blustered, “We’re the highest performing hospital in the Area Health Service, our KPI’s are at the top of the scale, all within budget!” His face was as red as pomegranate flesh, and his eyes bulged like ping pong balls. Uva shook her head, stubbing out her half smoked cigarette in a Styrofoam cup, and then slowly walking out. “I can make your lives miserable…” he yelled down the corridor after her.

Miserable, Uva thought, just as she spied a young nurse with five sleepers in one ear. She let it go, didn’t have the energy to berate her. Health care really was going to hell in a handcart.

The Tatteredsails Club was quite an austere building, with its faux Greek portico at the entrance and massive gloss black double doors with highly polished brass handles. This lead to an oak lined foyer, with a small desk off to one side, behind which sat a thin man who leaned on the desk with both hands, breathing very deliberately, as those with emphysema always seem to do.  His only job seemed to be to ensure that members possessed the appropriate identification, or that visitors signed the Visitors Book. By law visitors were supposed to provide evidence of membership to some club, but a brief examination of the book revealed scant regard for the law, some clubs named as, the Alpaca’s Fanciers Guild, the Male Nurse’s Union, and so on.

Once one had signed in, one was admitted to the dank interior, with it’s ornate plaster ceiling that was intact in some places, wallpaper dating back Queen Victoria’s childhood, and carpet that was completely devoid of any pile in areas of high traffic.

Geoffrey shaped up quite well, for the awards. On Dr James advice he’d bough a new suit, $29.95 at Rivva’s. Morticia was striking in her usual long black dress, black court shoes, and stockings, with her ebony hair flowing over her alabaster shoulders. Unfortunately they were the only participants, along with Dr James, his mother, and the head of the Health Department, Dr Wilson, a petite, bird like man who’s suit was one size too big, and who’s shirt collar sat out from his neck like the locking ring for an old brass diver’s helmet.

The formalities were conducted in the main hall, which could seat two hundred. The group looked slightly silly, huddled at the front of the hall, each taking a long walk to climb the side steps, walk across the stage, clasp Dr Wilson’s hand whilst the hospital photographer took a couple of snaps, then walk to the opposite steps to descend to rejoin the group. The awards took about eight minutes with Dr James accepting both his own award, and the award for the hospital, his mother applauding loudly and stamping her feet each time. Dr Wilson made a short speech, promising that Dr James’ PENIS would be strong feature of the Health Department’s next seminar. They were then ushered through to the dining room for ‘luncheon’.

The dining room was massive, dimly lit with oak tables and chairs contrasting against the huge 1950’s bain-marie and urns in the servery and garish bar with its red wallpaper and mirrored shelves.

The club had catered for fifty, so James felt compelled to apologise to the manager. “Don’t worry, lad.” The octogenarian shook his head. “Those pies and sausage rolls’ll sit in the warmer for another couple of days ‘til our members eat ‘em, and those bottles of Porphyry Pearl‘ll go back into the fridge.”

Geoffrey and Morticia stayed until they’d had their fill of sausage rolls and ‘bubbly’. Both were too tiddly to drive home so decided to take a taxi. Halfway home to Geoffrey’s mum’s place Morticia developed a definite look. She suddenly gave Geoffrey the most passionate kiss he’d ever had in his life. “Driver, change of destination.” She reeled off her address. “Don’t worry, Geoffrey, my flat mate is on night shift, she won’t wake up until tea time!” she giggled.