funny.’
In fact, I thought it a pretty stupid story, but one has to be polite.
‘You think that the story is funny?’
‘Oh, yes. Best I’ve heard for weeks. I suppose you know the one about the bishop and the parrot?’
‘Dear me, dear me,’ said the psychiatrist, and started writing notes.
After a good many questions about the Grimsdyke childhood, which was just the same as any other beastly little boy’s, he asked, ‘Any sexual difficulties?’
‘By Jove, yes.’
I told him the story of Avril Atkinson, but he didn’t seem impressed.
‘Your trouble, Dr Grimsdyke,’ he finally decided, wiping his pince-nez, ‘is that you find yourself in uncongenial employment.’
I asked him what I was supposed to do about it, but he only said something about it being a consulting-room and not the Labour Exchange.
‘I mean, being a doctor doesn’t train you for anything else much, does it? Not like some of those barristers, who get fed up standing on their feet drivelling away to judges and collect fat salaries running insurance companies.’
‘There have been medical bishops and ambassadors. Rhodesia had a medical Prime Minister. Goethe and Schiller were, of course, once both medical students.’
‘Yes, and Dr Gatling invented the machine gun, Dr Guillotin invented the guillotine and Dr Dover became a pirate. I don’t think I’ve much qualification for any of those professions, I’m afraid.’
‘I suggest some non-clinical branch. How about entymology? Are you fond of insects?’
I thought deeply. ‘Well, if I’m really no good as a doctor I suppose I could always end up as a psychiatrist. I say, I’m terribly sorry,’ I added. ‘Just for the moment I was forgetting–’
‘Good afternoon, Dr Grimsdyke.’
‘Right-ho. Do you want to see me again?’
‘No. I don’t want to see you at all. The nurse will show you out.’
I left him shaking his head and fumbling nervously with his pince-nez. The poor chap looked as though he really ought to have seen a psychiatrist.
‘How did you get on?’ asked Connie, answering the door when I called to report.
‘Well, I think I won.’
‘I hope he recommended shock treatment. Your Uncle Rudolph’s in the sitting-room.’
‘Good Lord, is he really? Where’s Miles?’
‘Out on a case. But don’t worry – Uncle only wants to offer you a job. One of those rich patients who’ve been buying up the local country houses has asked him to Jamaica for a holiday. As he’s got twenty-four hours to find a locum for the next three months, I suggested you.’
‘That’s really very decent of you, Connie.’
Since returning from the East, the old uncle had settled at Long Wotton, a pleasant niche in the Cotswolds with thatched roofs and draught cider and cows in the High Street. My session with the psychiatrist not producing much alternative to a lifetime of GP, and Miles’ ten quid already having undergone severe amputation, I felt glad of a decent job anywhere. I consoled myself that half rural practice is veterinary medicine anyway, and I’m rather fond of animals.
‘My daughter-in-law talked to me for thirty minutes before persuading me to take you as my locum,’ Uncle Rudolph greeted me. He was smaller and bristlier than Miles, with hair and eyebrows like steel wool under the influence of powerful magnets, and an equally prickly ginger tweed suit.
‘That’s very civil of you, uncle,’ I told him, ‘but as a matter of fact, you’re not putting me to any trouble, as I’m quite free at the moment.’
‘If you come to Long Wotton on Thursday, I can hand over. My Mrs Wilson will look after you adequately. Though she is attuned to the habits of an elderly widower, so don’t expect champagne and caviar for breakfast.’
‘Good Lord, no. I couldn’t possibly manage anything heavier than cornflakes in the morning, anyway.’
‘Kindly remember, Gaston, that there are a large number of important people in the neighbourhood. Most of them are
In fact, I thought it a pretty stupid story, but one has to be polite.
‘You think that the story is funny?’
‘Oh, yes. Best I’ve heard for weeks. I suppose you know the one about the bishop and the parrot?’
‘Dear me, dear me,’ said the psychiatrist, and started writing notes.
After a good many questions about the Grimsdyke childhood, which was just the same as any other beastly little boy’s, he asked, ‘Any sexual difficulties?’
‘By Jove, yes.’
I told him the story of Avril Atkinson, but he didn’t seem impressed.
‘Your trouble, Dr Grimsdyke,’ he finally decided, wiping his pince-nez, ‘is that you find yourself in uncongenial employment.’
I asked him what I was supposed to do about it, but he only said something about it being a consulting-room and not the Labour Exchange.
‘I mean, being a doctor doesn’t train you for anything else much, does it? Not like some of those barristers, who get fed up standing on their feet drivelling away to judges and collect fat salaries running insurance companies.’
‘There have been medical bishops and ambassadors. Rhodesia had a medical Prime Minister. Goethe and Schiller were, of course, once both medical students.’
‘Yes, and Dr Gatling invented the machine gun, Dr Guillotin invented the guillotine and Dr Dover became a pirate. I don’t think I’ve much qualification for any of those professions, I’m afraid.’
‘I suggest some non-clinical branch. How about entymology? Are you fond of insects?’
I thought deeply. ‘Well, if I’m really no good as a doctor I suppose I could always end up as a psychiatrist. I say, I’m terribly sorry,’ I added. ‘Just for the moment I was forgetting–’
‘Good afternoon, Dr Grimsdyke.’
‘Right-ho. Do you want to see me again?’
‘No. I don’t want to see you at all. The nurse will show you out.’
I left him shaking his head and fumbling nervously with his pince-nez. The poor chap looked as though he really ought to have seen a psychiatrist.
‘How did you get on?’ asked Connie, answering the door when I called to report.
‘Well, I think I won.’
‘I hope he recommended shock treatment. Your Uncle Rudolph’s in the sitting-room.’
‘Good Lord, is he really? Where’s Miles?’
‘Out on a case. But don’t worry – Uncle only wants to offer you a job. One of those rich patients who’ve been buying up the local country houses has asked him to Jamaica for a holiday. As he’s got twenty-four hours to find a locum for the next three months, I suggested you.’
‘That’s really very decent of you, Connie.’
Since returning from the East, the old uncle had settled at Long Wotton, a pleasant niche in the Cotswolds with thatched roofs and draught cider and cows in the High Street. My session with the psychiatrist not producing much alternative to a lifetime of GP, and Miles’ ten quid already having undergone severe amputation, I felt glad of a decent job anywhere. I consoled myself that half rural practice is veterinary medicine anyway, and I’m rather fond of animals.
‘My daughter-in-law talked to me for thirty minutes before persuading me to take you as my locum,’ Uncle Rudolph greeted me. He was smaller and bristlier than Miles, with hair and eyebrows like steel wool under the influence of powerful magnets, and an equally prickly ginger tweed suit.
‘That’s very civil of you, uncle,’ I told him, ‘but as a matter of fact, you’re not putting me to any trouble, as I’m quite free at the moment.’
‘If you come to Long Wotton on Thursday, I can hand over. My Mrs Wilson will look after you adequately. Though she is attuned to the habits of an elderly widower, so don’t expect champagne and caviar for breakfast.’
‘Good Lord, no. I couldn’t possibly manage anything heavier than cornflakes in the morning, anyway.’
‘Kindly remember, Gaston, that there are a large number of important people in the neighbourhood. Most of them are
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