Doctor on the Ball

Doctor on the Ball

Language: English

Pages: 153


Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub

First there is the actor who confuses himself with his character. Then comes the man suffering from amnesia…and the housewife who has spent all day wrestling with her washing machine. This is all in a day’s work for the local GP in a Kentish town. Yet having done this for twenty-five years Richard Gordon could surely be forgiven for occasionally hankering after an early retirement. This hilarious novel relates the incidents and events in a hapless GP’s life – misadventures that have somehow prevented him from once and for all exchanging his stethoscope for a fishing rod.

The Author: Richard Gordon is best-known for his hilarious ‘Doctor’ books and the long-running television series they inspired. Himself a qualified doctor, he worked as an anaesthetist, ship’s surgeon and then as assistant editor of the British Medical Journal before leaving medical practice in 1952 to take up writing full time. Many of his books are based on these experiences in the medical profession and are all told with the rye wit and candid humour that have become his hallmark.

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after all he is my husband, and maybe he’ll still feel a bit sore about finding you here, Fred dearest, I should take a walk.”’ ‘A prudent suggestion, perhaps.’ ‘So I put on my overcoat as it seemed a chilly time of year, and at the front door the old boy tucked the Sun under his arm and said, “I’d like it today.” I said, “What today?” and he said, “That thump last night make you lose your memory, or something? The money.” “Ah, the money,” I said. He said, “The bloke what I owe it to is turning

as shameless as the pictures in multipostural sex manuals. It’s the only way a woman can yield voluptuously to coarse male desires, now that sex is a rigorously equal activity, like a boxing match. And Mrs Haymason,’ I reflected fondly, ‘has a talent for the oven as Madame Pompadour for the bed.’ Rosemary Haymason was in her twenties, a softly bulging blonde, like a well-risen cheese soufflé. ‘Any woman can become a culinary athlete by buying enough cookery books,’ Sandra disagreed. ‘There’s

pathologist. All my patients have to be dead first.’ Mr Horace Fenny-Cooper QC grinned again. ‘I am sure that spares you much trouble in litigation. You deal, if I may make the point, with the fait accompli. But whatever the verdict returned today–’ His arm scythed the pleasant green view. ‘I submit, every right-thinking man will, beyond reasonable doubt, remember that when the One Great Scorer comes to write against your name, he marks not that you won or lost but how you played the game.

details. Simplicity itself, I extolled: the lady has a quick affair with a syringe and a little lie-down afterwards. The specimen could be fresh or frozen, like smoked salmon. They agreed to consult a discreet doctor in Wimpole Street recommended by my son Andy, who seemed to know about such things. Now sperm and ovum had met like Romeo and Juliet, and Mrs Iles sat across the consulting desk like the cat who had eaten the cream purring at the milkman. ‘Though I cannot keep out of my mind the

which most people find admirably simple.’ ‘Well, AID would be equally effective if we simply put both parties in a pitch-dark room and let them impregnate per viam naturalem.’ ‘That happens,’ Sandra murmured. ‘Oh, AID’s a thriving leisure activity,’ I agreed. ‘There was something recently in the BMJ. Research on the population’s blood groups proved that one child in three couldn’t remotely have been the husband’s.’ I guffawed. She raised her eyebrows. I observed, ‘I hope ours are the other

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