My doctor is a dish, and he has such a good bed-side manner (in or out of a bedroom) that once his patients get in to see him they simply don’t want to leave; therefore, it came as no surprise to me when I arrived at the surgery and found the waiting-room still half-filled with patients even though it was lunchtime and surgery should have been almost at an end. In anticipation of this scenario, I had brought along my reading glasses. There was not a “Reader’s Digest” to be seen anywhere so instead I opted for a “House and Gardens” magazine. I was looking at the photographs of a fantastic kitchen (didn’t really need my glasses after all) when two ladies – a mother and daughter – came in.

“Hello Sally!” said the older lady as she sat down next to me (and I dispensed with the magazine).

“Hello,” I answered. (I didn’t use her name because I’ve never known it, whereas she knows mine because nearly everyone in Dawlish knows me on account of me being an artist and quite well-known within a three-mile radius.)

In spite of being at the doctor’s, the lady was very bright and cheery, and her good mood was infectious (so to speak); all the other patients, who had been waiting patiently ahead of me and the newcomers, perked up and took notice of the lady who spoke, not in hushed whispers, but in vibrant tones; and little wonder because she was undeniably much more fun than “Devon Life” or “House and Gardens”. The pretty blonde sitting opposite looked across at us with the eagerness of one who is keen on a distraction from the boredom of waiting (there were still three people ahead of her in the queue for our gorgeous doctor, not to mention the patient already in with him, keeping him for as long as possible). The blonde’s husband had disappeared on the pretext of “Just going to get another ticket for the parking”, but that was ages ago and everyone suspected that he had gone for a drink, or a read of the paper, or anything less tedious than waiting (of course, he hadn’t bargained for the party atmosphere now in the waiting room).

A young woman and her tattooed and pierced boyfriend came in and sat down at the far end of the room. They didn’t speak but they looked on amused until the girl was called in by the nurse, and then the young man carried on smiling on his own. An older lady, who had been there all the time, moved from her distant seat to one of the ones opposite; perhaps she moved because she thought she would be called soon, and therefore get in quicker to see our lovely doctor (and have him for longer); or maybe she hadn’t heard the conversation too well from her remote seat and she hoped to be a part of the gang having all the animated chat.

In truth, the chit chat was mainly about our bubbly lady’s stroke last year and we discovered that her daughter is called Alison, and I thought that Alison was at the doctor’s because of a sore throat but actually Alison’s husky voice was the result of a tracheotomy mishap after she had come out of a five month induced coma during her fight for life with pneumonia. Also, we established the order of the queue and how long each had been waiting; oh, and we discussed our beloved doctor.

“You look very well, especially considering you had a stroke last year,” I said and all the other people in the waiting room either nodded their heads or agreed with a lowering of their eyes.

“And I’m eighty-one now. I’m okay but I find that I get a bit unstable when I’m walking. The double vision has gone though.”

“Why don’t you use those walking poles that look like ski sticks?” I asked.

“Oh no!” she laughed and held her hands over her face, “I have one of those wheeled walkers with a seat. Anyway, I’d rather not draw attention to myself.”

“But think how sporting you’d look going around the town with poles,” I persisted.

We all laughed, including the tattooed boyfriend of the girl in with the nurse.

“So your speech wasn’t affected by your stroke then?” I asked.

“Oh yes it was,” Alison got in quickly,”Now you can’t get her to stop talking!”

“Yes, it’s true,” her  mother agreed, “But that’s only because I live on my own.”

And if Alison and her mum happen to find my blog and read this, I’d just like to say that my wait of an hour or more seemed only minutes, thanks to them. Another thing, sorry if I kept you waiting for a long time but you know how it is – I found it hard to drag myself away from our adorable doctor.