Hearing from my friend Lord Mancroft that all nurses are grubby and promiscuous, I immediately feigned a gammy leg and booked myself into hospital for some slumpy pumpy.
After being forced to wait an interminably long time for service, jostling for position in the waiting room with hundreds of drunk children, my turn on the trolley finally came.
I must say I was disappointed with the girl they offered me, I'd had visions of a naughty Babs Windsor or an large and experienced Hattie Jacques type. The girl I got was thin, pale, obviously overworked.
She asked nicely for me to take my trousers off, but to be honest I didn't have the heart to go through with the arrangement. I made my excuses and left, placing a handful of tenners on a swing bin as I exited.
Is it any wonder that the NHS is in such crisis? Any young man with non-uxorious tastes would choose a private parlour over the state-run flop house that our local services have become any day.
Bevan would be tossing in his grave.
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